The Phantom, The Duchess, and The Viscount
by moviebuffgirl
Summary: Erik and Christine were childhood friends. When she returned to England, she promised to come back. Twelve years later Christine is back at the Opera Populaire. Can she and Erik resume their friendship? Or is there something more to their feelings?
1. Chapter 1: Erik

**Chapter One: Erik**

_**Paris Opera House, 1858**_

"_Wait for me!" Little Christine Daae lifted the skirts of her dress slightly as she ran after her friend. _

_They were exploring the new Paris Opera House, which had opened a few years ago. Christine had met her strange friend then, and the two had instantly bonded. She thought he was the son of one of the stagehands, since he knew his way around pretty well._

_His name was Erik._

_She didn't get to see his face that much, because he always wore a grubby brown sack over it. Christine always asked him why, but he had never answered her. _

_Today she was going to find out why._

_Christine was the only daughter of Gustav Daae, the revered and respected Duke of Wiltshire. Christine's mother was the beautiful Charlotte Daae, but she had died giving birth to Christine six years ago. For five years Christine lived in her father's grand estate in Wiltshire, England, and it was only a year ago when they moved to Paris when her father began entering business deals with the owner of the Paris Opera House, Monsieur Lefevre._

_Christine thought she would be spending most of her time in the opera house looking wistfully at the ballerinas who laced their pink silk ballet slippers or watch the muscled workers quickly arrange the set pieces into place during rehearsals._

_But no. She met Erik during one of her many attempted escapes from her nanny when she climbed up into the rooftop. She was too short to see over the balcony, so she had crouched down and peered out through the bars._

_Erik had appeared then, and he asked her who she was. At first Christine was frightened, but his voice was so gentle, so soothing, that all her fears slipped away._

_They became good friends after that. Erik seemed curious about her and her life, but he never told her much about himself, only that he ran away from the circus and never came back. Christine had wanted to introduce him to her father, but Erik had shrunk away._

"_It's better if I don't, Chrissy," he said quietly before disappearing._

_He always did that; it was like he was a magician and could slip away unnoticed. Christine guessed that he had been to the circus once with his stagehand father and had learned a few tricks._

"_Erik! Wait!" Christine called out, and gave a sharp cry when her dress snagged on something. She tried pulling her dress free, and a tiny rip told her she had torn the hem of her skirt. She started to cry._

"_Chrissy? Chrissy! Are you alright?" Erik said, running to her side and kneeling on the floor. When he saw her tear-streaked face, he made an angry noise. "Darn. I'm sorry, Chrissy."_

_Christine nodded between sobs. "Papa would… be mad," she choked out. _

"_You can have your nanny mend it," Erik suggested. As always, his voice was muffled by the sack he wore over his head. _

"_No! Nanny always tells Papa if I've been naughty," Christine wailed. "Help me, Erik."_

"_Fine, I'll try to stitch it," he said hastily. "I know where Madame Giry keeps her sewing box. Come on."_

"_Don't leave me again," Christine chided him as they made their way past the empty dressing rooms. The performers were busy at rehearsals, which gave them the freedom to go about as they pleased._

_Erik shook his head. "Never again."_

_Christine smiled. Erik led her inside the room marked "Giry" and began searching the drawers, while Christine looked at the items scattered on the vanity dresser. They were so busy looking for the sewing box that they didn't notice Meg watching them from behind the burgundy dressing screen, her eyes fixed on Erik._

"_Found it!" Erik hissed, holding the small heart-shaped box in the air. _

_Christine squealed with delight, clapping her hands joyously. Erik opened the box and found a needle and a spool of thread that closely matched the blue of Christine's dress._

"_Sit," Erik said, and Christine sat primly on the nearby couch, her feet dangling a few inches from the floor. "Stay still. I don't want to prick you."_

_Christine froze and Erik laughed a little. He expertly drew the thread through the eye of the needle, tied a knot at the very end, and ran the needle through the tear in Christine's dress. His strokes were quick and fast, and he was soon tying the thread together and clipping the ends._

_Christine smiled at him and stood up. She walked over to the mirror and examined her dress._

"_Oh Erik, you're amazing!" she said, twirling around happily. "You saved my life!"_

"_It was nothing," Erik murmured, looking down at his feet. _

"_It was not!" Christine said, and she gave him a hug. Erik clasped his hands behind his back uncomfortably._

"_Um, we need to put this back, Chrissy," he reminded her._

"_Oh yes you should!" Meg cried, unable to stand it any longer. She leapt from behind the screen and stomped towards Erik. "Return that box, you monster!"_

_Christine's eyes narrowed. "He is no monster, Meg! Leave him alone!"_

_Meg rolled her eyes and stomped her dainty feet again. "Give it back!"_

"_Fine," Erik retorted harshly, and threw the contents of the sewing box in Meg's face._

_She yelped as the needles and spools of thread smacked her in the face, but by then Erik and Christine were gone, running as fast as Christine's six year old feet would allow. When they were safely away, Christine rounded on Erik._

"_What did you do that for?" she demanded. "That wasn't nice."_

"_She called me a monster," he said defensively. "I'm not."_

"_Then don't act like one," Christine said, her tiny voice softening. "Please, Erik. You are my best best best best best BEST friend in the whole wild world, and I don't want people hating you."_

_Erik sighed and nodded. "Alright, Christine, whatever makes you happy."_

_Christine smiled and hugged him again. "You're a really good friend, Erik."_

"_Really?" Erik sounded happy._

"_Yes," Christine said, smiling warmly at him. She knew Erik was a little older than her – his height was a dead giveaway – so she thought he was her fierce protector, the older brother she never had. "Are we going to play some more, Erik?"_

"_Of course! Follow me, Chrissy. I found a new passageway," Erik said excitedly. Christine followed him as he led her down beneath the stage. Erik opened the door to the prop room and headed to the very back. He crouched down and pried a loose floorboard._

"_Erik?" Christine whispered. Christine hated the prop room. It had large sculptures and other sorts of horrible looking things that seemed to follow her every move. But she was with Erik, and she trusted him._

_Erik ran to her, holding out what looked like a silver medallion. It was on a fine filigree chain, and the medallion had colorful stones set in the center._

"_It's pretty," Christine said, amazed. The stones caught the light and reflected in her face. Erik was studying her, obviously pleased by his discovery. "I thought you found a passageway, Erik."_

_He snorted. "I just told you that so you'd follow me here. I know how you hate this place."_

_Christine blushed. "Who's is it?"_

"_Yours," Erik replied automatically, dropping the medallion in her small palm. "Keep it, so you'll never forget me."_

"_I'll never, ever, never ever forget you, Erik," Christine said smiling. "I love it!"_

"_Don't tell your papa where you got it though," he warned._

"_Why?"_

_Erik didn't reply. Instead he led her out of the prop room and they headed towards the stage. Rehearsal seemed to have ended, because the stomping of many feet and the steady, lively chatter of the performers grew louder and louder. _

_Amidst the noise Erik and Christine heard the alarmed shout of Nanny Margarethe._

"_Christine! Christine, where are you, you silly child? Come here!"_

"_I have to go," Christine said, sighing. "But thank you for this, Erik."_

"_You're welcome," he mumbled, looking down at his feet. "You're leaving tonight, aren't you?"_

_Christine nodded, tears forming in her eyes. "I'll miss you, Erik."_

"_So will I. I won't have any friends here anymore," he said, not looking at her. "Promise me you'll come back?"_

"_I will," Christine promised. "I'll come back, and we'll spend our time here in the opera house. Oh take care of yourself, Erik!"_

_Christine threw her arms around Erik again and embraced him. His mask was wet, and he sounded like he was crying. _

"_Christine!" Nanny Margarethe's tone was as sharp as ever._

"_Good bye!" Christine said quickly, pulling away. _

_Erik nodded once. "I'll see you soon."_

_Christine smiled at him before running in the direction of Nanny Margarethe's voice._

"_Good bye, Christine," Erik whispered to the empty hallway. "I'll never forget you."_

* * *

_**Ferry to Paris, 1870 (12 years later)**_

"Oh God, the weather is completely scorching!" a woman complained loudly. She fanned herself furiously and then snapped her fan shut before leaving in a huff and a swish of her skirts. She accidentally bumped into a handsome young man who was making his way past the crowd and towards a beautiful girl sitting near a group of boisterous boys who were insulting the lower class passengers who had crowded on deck.

"Christine!" the man called, and the girl looked up.

Christine Daae was no longer six years old, that much was obvious. She had inherited her mother's long, dark tresses that hung below her waist, and she had her father's thoughtful and warm eyes.

"Raoul," she said smiling. "Took you sometime to pry yourself from your new friends, I see."

Raoul blushed. "I apologize. They had interesting things to say about going on a safari in Africa, and… well.."

Christine laughed, which caught the attention of the boys sitting near her. She didn't mind them, as always – she had never found a man who had captured her attention and love so far. Well, except for Raoul, but he was her dearest companion, and he certainly didn't count.

"I was jesting, dear Raoul," she told him, placing a hand on his knee. "You should not worry. I was perfectly fine."

"That's reassuring," Raoul said with relief, while casting a warning glance at the boys who were ogling Christine behind her back.

"Have you talked to the captain?" Christine asked while watching a violinist serenade a newlywed couple. "How much longer will this voyage take?"

Raoul shook his head. "I didn't. Philipp and Stephan sidetracked me before I could talk to him properly. At this rate we'll be there tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow!" Christine was disappointed. "I hoped we'd be there tonight."

"Why? What's so special in Paris, Christine?" Raoul inquired. "Aside from our school friends, of course."

"An old friend," Christine replied vaguely. "I haven't seen him in 12 years, Raoul."

Raoul grew jealous. Christine talked about this mysterious friend with such love in her eyes. But he knew better than to be envious; Christine was so sweet, kind, and understanding; nobody could stay mad at her for long.

Well, at least he couldn't.

Christine smiled at him and his jealousy abated. But he was still curious.

"Was he the one who gave you that necklace?" he asked her.

Christine's hand immediately flew to her neck, where a beautiful medallion was hanging from a filigree chain. The medallion rested on her cleavage, and Raoul couldn't help but wonder if the flesh on that particular spot was soft, sweet, and… no.

_I mustn't think like that,_ Raoul reminded himself.

"Yes, he did," she said, and it appeared as if she were reliving the memory. "I never took it off after that. It's like my protection charm."

"Oh." Raoul didn't trust himself to speak. He loved Christine the very day they met four years ago, and he didn't like the idea that someone else seemed to have her heart.

"Is something wrong?" Christine asked, her face full of worry. "Was it because I mentioned Erik?"

Raoul blinked. "Erik?"

"My childhood friend," she replied slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Raoul. I should have never brought him up." She leaned against her chair and didn't say another word.

Guilt ran through Raoul; he never intended to make her feel bad about not mentioning Erik.

"No, it's not that, Christine," he reassured her quickly. "It's the heat; it's becoming unbearable."

Christine looked at him. "Are you sure, Raoul?"

He nodded, hoping she would smile at him. She didn't.

Instead, she looked thoughtful, her fingers never leaving the medallion, as she twirled it over and over.

Half an hour later Raoul escorted Christine back to her room. It was on the upper class level of the ferry, and it was decked out with every possible luxury. A cool champagne bottle had been put out, and Raoul noted that it was one of the good years.

Christine sat on her couch, while maids scuttled quickly out of the room. The table was practically groaning under the numerous pastries and fruits that were placed on top, but Christine didn't seem to be in the mood to eat anything.

Raoul popped a chocolate éclair in his mouth and savored the creamy chocolate as it trickled down his throat.

"Aren't you hungry, Christine?" he asked, handing a platter of little cakes out to her.

She shook her head. "I'm worried, Raoul."

"About what?" he was instantly alert; ready to offer his services at a moment's notice.

"I'm worried about Erik."

Him.

Raoul tried not to let his disappointment and jealousy show, and it was lucky that Christine was looking the other way. "What about him?"

"Maybe he isn't in the opera house anymore, Raoul," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I didn't write to him all these years, and he might have left thinking that I never came back for him."

"Ssssshhh. Don't worry, Christine, we'll find him," Raoul assured her, although he despised himself for what he said. "If we have to search every inch of Paris to find him, we will."

Christine turned, and he saw that her face was stained with her tears. He whipped out his handkerchief and offered it to her.

"You'll help me?" she said, her voice hardly audible as she wiped away her tears.

Raoul nodded. "Of course, dearest Christine. I am your friend, am I not?"

"Oh thank you, Raoul!" Christine said, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you."

"Why does he mean so much to you?" Raoul asked her before he could stop himself.

"He was there for me when I needed a friend the most," Christine said, pulling away from Raoul. "When no one else wanted to listen, he was there. I owe him most of my happiness, Raoul. The times I spent with him; oh, you should have been there too! Erik knew every secret of the opera house, and we were like little masters of the stage."

Raoul forced a smile. He couldn't bear to be grumpy and upset when Christine was so happy. He just couldn't.

The door to Christine's room opened, and one of the captain's lieutenants poked his head in.

"Pardon the interruption, my lady, but the captain wishes to inform you we will be arriving in Paris in two hours," the lieutenant said, in obvious awe of Christine's beauty.

"Two hours! Raoul, that soon?" Christine gasped happily. She thanked the lieutenant graciously, who reluctantly closed the door and returned to his duties.

Raoul laughed. "I thought you couldn't wait to arrive in Paris."

"Oh, but I didn't expect it to be this soon! Are we going to the opera house at once?" she asked, hardly able to contain her excitement. Raoul knew Christine was like a little girl with her most intimate friends, but in public she was the very figure of poise and grace. "I have made arrangements with Madame Giry regarding our rooms."

She _was_ the Duchess of Wiltshire, after all.

"I thought we were staying in the Hotel de France," Raoul said, surprised. "You changed our plans?"

"I thought you wouldn't mind," Christine said, reaching out for a grape. "I'm tired of hotel rooms, Raoul. The opera house is like my second home. Please, don't be mad."

"Why would I be?" Raoul said gently. "Staying in the Opera Populaire would be a new experience."

Christine smiled. "I can't wait to introduce you to Erik."

"Neither can I," Raoul replied, but he knew he was lying.

_Forgive me, Christine, but I hope you never find Erik,_ Raoul thought. _You're mine._

* * *

**Author's Note: Fan Trailer available YouTube. Keyword: The Phantom, The Duchess, and The Viscount Fan Trailer. Or search for: fanficfan007**

**Guide to the formats used in the story:**

**Bold = denotes a dream**

_Italics = denotes either a thought or a flashback_


	2. Chapter 2: Return to the Opera

**Chapter Two: Return to the Opera**

_**Opera Populaire, 1870**_

"There it is," Christine breathed, her eyes shining with excitement.

Raoul peered out of the carriage and stared at the large, imperious opera house. Marble pillars supported a Romanesque roof, while finely sculpted figures graced the entrance. Raoul understood why it was easily the grandest opera in the city. And the most expensive.

"It looks beautiful," Raoul agreed. "I can see why you wanted to stay here instead of the hotel."

Christine gave him a bemused look and continued to stare at the building. Raoul knew she was probably thinking of Erik, and he squirmed a little in his seat.

They had arrived at the docks just as night fell, and Christine practically flew down the ramp after they had bidden the good Captain farewell. She was excited – that much was certain. Raoul had smiled then; he loved seeing her so happy. She had chattered amicably during the ride to the opera house, and she told him all the things she did when she stayed in Paris.

She pointed out her favorite doll store ("Oh, it's still open! I was afraid they might have closed by now!"), where she had her dresses made ("I wonder if Madame Trusseau still remembers me."), and where she and her father had their breakfast ("Their cakes are heavenly.") as they passed, and Raoul could picture how her childhood must have been: happy.

When her father died, however, Christine had to grow up pretty fast. As the last surviving member of the Daae family, Christine had duties to fulfill and expectations to meet. The most important thing for her to do was to sire the next generation of the Daae line and marry into a respectable family.

Christine had put off that part for four years, saying that she still needed time to get over her father's death. Nobody could say no to a member of the Daae family, and they certainly weren't going to say no to Christine.

As her last deed before finally looking for a suitable husband, Christine had prepared the trip to Paris. She had hoped to find Erik before fully meeting her duty as the Duchess of Wiltshire, and perhaps salvage what was left of their once close friendship.

The carriage stopped directly in front of the opera house, and Raoul got out first. He saw a small group of people waiting for them by the entrance, including a slim, blonde girl standing beside a tall woman who had her hands clasped around a fan. The girl was staring at him. He extended his arm to Christine and she took his hand as she stepped down.

He heard gasps of surprise and approval, and the woman approached. The others hung behind; they were probably waiting to see what would happen. Christine raised her head and saw the woman, and her face broke into a wide grin.

"Madame Giry," Christine greeted, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek.

"Christine," Madame Giry replied, smiling fondly at Christine. "How you have grown."

"And you…you haven't aged a day!" Christine declared, causing Madame Giry to tilt her head back and laugh. "Are the others still here? Oh."

The others had approached. The girl curtsied, but she glared frostily at Christine. A short, gray-haired man stepped forward and doffed his top hat.

"Duchess. I am Monsieur Andre," he said. "I am grateful that you have decided to continue your father's generous patronage to the opera house. I, along with my colleague, Monsieur Firmin, are at your disposal."

"No need to thank me, Monsieur Andre. I highly support this cause, and I could not believe that this opera house had suddenly plunged into such a dire situation," Christine told him.

Monsieur Andre bowed. "If there is anything you need, anything at all, my lady, never hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Christine said. She noticed a rather scraggly man standing behind the group, and she motioned for him to come forward. "What is your name?"

"Buquet, your Ladyship," he said huskily. He reeked of alcohol, but Christine didn't mind. "I'm one of the stagehands. I – I came on behalf of them to thank you."

Christine smiled. "Your gratitude is heartwarming, Monsieur Buquet. Thank you."

Buquet gave an awkward smile.

"Who is this young man you're with, Christine?" the girl piped up impatiently.

"Meg," Christine said, feeling unsure how to deal with her. "He is Raoul, the Viscount of Klondike, and my good friend."

"A pleasure," Meg purred, extending her arm so that Raoul could kiss her hand.

He didn't.

Christine heard a low chuckle, and she frowned a little and looked around. The chuckle sounded familiar, just like… Erik's. Her eyes widened and she made a move to leave, but she felt Madame Giry grip her hand.

"Hush, enough of this chatter," Madame Giry said, leading Christine up the steps. "I'm sure the two of you are tired after your long journey."

"Thank you for accommodating us, Madame Giry," Raoul said, following Christine closely. "We were supposed to stay in a hotel, but that was before Christine told me she had other plans."

Madame Giry smiled. "Christine can get a little unpredictable sometimes. She was like that when she was little."

_

* * *

_

_She's here,_ he thought. _She _did_ keep her promise._

He peered over the ledge, careful not to draw any of their attention. He saw Christine, as lovely as he knew she would be, smiling at the small crowd who had gathered to welcome her back to the opera house.

_Poor Meg,_ he thought scornfully, watching Meg shift uncomfortably while she looked on enviously at Christine in her costly dress. _Her place as the princess of the opera has now been usurped by Christine. Meg was never a beauty to begin with._

He noticed the strapping young man who had helped Christine from the carriage, and he didn't like how the man kept edging closer to Christine.

_You do not own her,_ he wanted to shout.

Erik had waited for Christine to return for years. Each year that passed, he slowly lost hope – until a few weeks ago, when he was able to read Christine's letter to Madame Giry. Seeing her curvy handwriting brought tears to his eyes. He had kept her letter, and up to now Madame Giry was wondering where the letter went.

_Dear Madame Giry,_ the letter began.

_You must have heard of my father's death four years ago. I have heard that the opera house has been in desperate need of help. Since that place has given me nothing but happiness as a child, I have decided to go there and fulfill my father's wishes to ensure that you and the rest of the wonderful players still have a place to showcase your unending talents. _

_If it would not cause any inconveniences to you or the rest of the people in the opera house, I, along with my good friend, the Viscount Raoul de Chagny, would like to stay in the opera house. The place holds so many fond and happy memories for me that I would consider it a great honor if you would oblige me this little favor._

_Wishing you and all the rest the best of health, and I shall see you soon._

_Yours,_

_**Christine Daae**_

Erik was disappointed that he wasn't mentioned, but he remembered that Christine had promised him that she wouldn't say anything about him. The knowledge of her return had spun Erik to new heights, and he walked in the opera with a new spring in his step.

Now he could see her, and he felt as if his heart would explode with happiness and love for her. He had missed her dearly, and he remembered the times they spent playing in the opera. Obviously she hadn't forgotten, because she said that the opera house "holds so many fond and happy memories".

Erik looked down just in time to see Meg attempt to have the Viscount – Erik's face soured at the very thought of that man – kiss her hand, only to be subtly rebuffed. Erik chuckled meanly despite himself, and he noticed that Christine was looking around, a confused look on her face.

He realized that she must have heard him, and he willed her to look up.

_Look up, Chrissy. Please,_ he prayed.

Instead, she was led inside by Madame Giry. Erik ducked back into the shadows and ran up the sloping roof. With the fluid grace of a panther, he swung up to the rooftop and made his way to one of the secret passages he knew so well.

Erik knew Christine needed rest, but he longed to see her and talk to her again. They'd been apart for so long, and each day that had passed after she left had brought a dull ache in his heart.

He loved her the moment he saw her, and now, seeing her for the first time in 12 years, his love intensified.

As he made his way down the passageway, he made a vow to tell her how much he loved her, no matter what.

* * *

Christine was in awe.

The room Madame Giry led her to was decorated with soft hues, and a small fountain was placed in the center of the room. The bed was a large canopy bed made from strong oak, and the mattress looked soft and comfortable.

"Oh Madame Giry, it's lovely," Christine breathed, and she saw that there was a large vanity dresser filled with perfumes and scented candles. A new silver brush was on one side, and a silk scarf was draped on the chair for dramatic effect. "Thank you so much."

"Yes, the design is exquisite," Raoul said, coming up behind her. "Whoever designed this room certainly has an eye for detail."

Madame Giry smiled. "Meg designed it herself."

"Did you?" Christine asked, turning her head to smile at the girl who was standing beside her mother.

"Yes," Meg said, tilting her chin up and glaring icily at Christine.

"Well, you certainly did a good job," Christine praised, her smile unwavering. "The room is beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it." Meg's glare was anything but warm. It was obvious that their old rivalry hadn't abated.

Madame Giry sensed the animosity coming from her daughter, because she quickly ushered Christine and Raoul into the next room, which was to be Raoul's. It had a more masculine flair, and there was a slim cupboard where sharp daggers and swords hung.

Raoul chuckled and examined a fencing sword. "Where did you get this?" he asked Meg.

"There's an antiques store not far from here," Meg said eagerly. Her tone changed; she was freer and warmer towards Raoul than she had been with Christine. "They sell all sorts of weapons and old things. I could show it to you sometime, if you wish."

"You must," Raoul said, which caused Meg to smile. "Christine and I have a lot of places to see in Paris."

Meg's smile crashed to the floor.

"Very well," she said shortly. "Mother, I think I should check if our meal is ready."

Madame Giry nodded, and after Meg left, she cast an embarrassed look at Christine.

"I apologize for my daughter's behavior, Christine," she began, but Christine silenced her by patting her hand gently.

"Hush, Madame Giry. I understand Meg. There is no need to apologize," Christine assured the older woman.

Madame Giry smiled and cupped Christine's face. "Oh my dear, you're so beautiful. You look like your mother."

"Everyone tells me that," Christine said. "But I have my father's eyes."

"I couldn't agree more," Madame Giry said, nodding. "Well. I shall leave you both for a while, but I'll send someone to fetch you."

"Why? Madame Giry, I still know my way around," Christine reminded her gently. "We can find our way around, don't worry."

"I know, my dear, but there have been a few changes made over the past few years. It's better to be safe," Madame Giry replied before closing the door.

Once she was gone, Christine turned to Raoul and smiled. "I can't believe we're actually here!" She sank to the nearest armchair with a satisfied sigh.

"It's just like how you described it, Christine," Raoul said, walking over to her. "And much more."

"I can't wait to finish everything I came here for so that I can begin looking for Erik," Christine added. "I'm sure he's changed. You know – gotten older. And bigger." She laughed nervously.

Raoul bit his lip and didn't say anything.

"I honestly don't know what to say if I see him again, Raoul," she admitted. "I'm a bit anxious to meet him again."

"Well – I'm sure he is, too," Raoul said carefully. "Listen, Christine, why don't you rest for a while? I'm sure you're tired."

Christine shook her head. "Don't be silly, Raoul. I spent most of the voyage sitting on deck. I've had more than enough rest."

"Very well," he said, defeated. "So what do you think Madame Giry has in store for us?"

"A rehearsal," Christine said immediately. "She surprised Father and I when we arrived. Back then it was a rendition of 'Romeo and Juliet', and I remember wishing I could be as beautiful and as loved as Juliet. Especially since my middle name is Juliet. I loved the romance between her and Romeo. Oh, how I wish I can find my own Romeo soon."

_I wish _I_ was your Romeo,_ Raoul thought wistfully.

Out loud he said: "But doesn't Juliet die for her Romeo? They never live happily ever after."

"But still, they shared a love so strong that nothing could tear them apart," Christine said dreamily. "Not even Death itself. That is the love I want to have."

"Well, if you find your Romeo, let me know," Raoul teased, but there was a little longing in his voice.

"I will," Christine said, her eyes twinkling. She stood up and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Raoul asked her as she placed her hand on the door handle.

"Back to my room," she replied. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just don't go wandering about," he told her.

She laughed. "You sound just like Father."

"Promise me." Raoul's tone was serious.

She sighed. "I promise."

As Christine closed the door to Raoul's room she gave a soft giggle. _I never specified my promise,_ she thought mischievously.

She walked down the hallway and looked at the paintings of the past singers who had performed in the opera house over the years. She recognized Mathilde Bordaceux, the singer who had portrayed Juliet in the play 12 years ago.

There were 11 other singers Christine failed to recognize; these were the singers who performed in the opera house when she was in England. The latest was Carlotta Blanchard, who was recently discovered after singing in the plaza last Christmas Eve.

Unlike her predecessors, Carlotta was in her late twenties or early thirties. She had a pale, pointy face and fierce eyes. Christine didn't know how someone like her was able to grace the stage of the Opera Populaire, but who was she to judge?

Christine walked farther down the hallway, her satin heels making soft clacking noises as she walked. She sensed someone was watching her, and out of habit she called: "Erik?"

There was no one. Christine's shoulders drooped. She had hoped that she would receive news of Erik, but she knew that Erik told her never to tell anyone about him. She had suspected then that he wasn't the son of the stagehands – that he was a lonely, homeless boy who had decided to live in the opera house.

He was completely harmless and so kind to her that Christine didn't want to cause anything that would harm him.

How she missed him.

She continued down the hallway until she reached a flight of stairs. Christine was about to place her foot on the stair when someone grabbed her hand, causing her to scream.

"Hush, Christine! It's me!"

Raoul.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?" she asked, frowning.

"I came to find you," he said. "What are _you_ doing here? I thought you promised me you'd stay in your room."

"I said no such thing," she corrected him. "All I said was 'I promise'."

Raoul sighed. "Come on, Christine. Let's go."

"But I wanted to explore this staircase," Christine protested as they made their way down the hallway. "Raoul!"

Raoul shook his head. "Madame Giry has sent someone for us, just like she promised. It would be rude to keep the others waiting."

"Oh, alright," Christine said dejectedly. "But I still want to see what's up there."

_

* * *

_

_How dare he,_ Erik raged silently. _He shouldn't control Chrissy like that. Doesn't he understand that she loves her freedom? You are not her husband, Viscount!_

Erik closed the eye holes he had cut on the painting of Mathilde Bordaceux and slipped down the passageway. He heard Christine finally give in to the Viscount's wishes, but she gave a low noise, the one she made whenever she was annoyed.

"Milady, I am Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur Andre's associate," a loud, haughty voice came from a few inches away. The passageway snaked around Raoul's room and into Christine's, so Erik could still hear the conversation that was being held.

"A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur," Christine said primly.

_And those old men are completely fawning over her,_ Erik thought bitterly. _She could be their daughter, for cripes' sake!_

Raoul whispered something, and Christine gave a soft "oh."

Erik wondered what it was, but soon after that Christine spoke again.

"Certainly, Monsieur. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting with Monsieur Andre and Madame Giry sometime this week," Christine said.

A few seconds later Erik heard the door to Christine's room close. He heard three steps of footsteps – two heavy strides and the light footsteps of Christine – grow faint. Erik sighed and adjusted the white mask that covered half of his forehead and down to his cheek.

He had outgrown his grubby sack mask when he turned twelve, and after listening in on the sculpture lessons that silly Meg Giry took in one of the sitting rooms, he was able to make a proper mask.

As he grew up in the opera house, Erik learned a great many things. By exploring the sewage system that ran from his secret lair, which he had stumbled upon while exploring the different passages after Christine left, he was able to follow tunnels that led to different workshops.

Each year he learned something new. By "visiting" the doll maker who Christine loved so much, Erik learned how to create his own dolls. He listened and practiced swordfighting from the training center for young boys in the downtown district, and he honed his architectural skills by stealing a few blueprints from the local architect's office.

The years he spent without Christine were spent wisely, and now Erik was a well-taught man who knew his way about the world.

The only problem lay behind his mask.

Erik hated the thought of Christine shrinking back from him once she saw what he truly looked like – he knew he would simply die if she rebuffed him. He had experienced tons of rejections from people because of the way he looked, and he had believed that Christine was the only person who wouldn't treat him like a freak. Erik knew that Christine longed to know to see behind his sack when they were little, but he was able to divert her attention to other things. He didn't want to lose her then, but now he knew his time was up. He had to find out if Christine _was_ his – dare he think of her as his lover? – or if she stayed his friend only because she didn't know what he really looked like.

_Now is the time to find out,_ he told himself.


	3. Chapter 3: The Performance

**Chapter Three: The Performance**

As they neared the doors to the main performance hall Christine heard a powerful – but rather revolting – singing voice.

Beside her Raoul frowned. "Is there a cat being slaughtered in there, Monsieur Firmin?"

Monsieur Firmin's mouth twitched, like he was trying hard not to smile. "No, my Lord. That is the opera's newest primadonna, Mademoiselle Carlotta Blanchard."

Christine immediately pictured the woman in the painting. Now she wondered how Carlotta was able to worm her way into the opera house.

_I shouldn't be so mean,_ Christine berated herself silently.

"Is she tuning her voice?" Christine asked Monsieur Firmin as they made their way inside.

Monsieur Firmin put a finger to his lips before replying. "No, my Lady. She is singing the opening of our new play," he whispered.

Christine and Raoul looked at the stage. Christine immediately recognized Carlotta as the woman swooping across the stage as she sang her lines, while completely dwarfing the other ballet dancers. Christine saw Madame Giry, half-concealed by the fake elephant that was now being pushed onto the stage.

A few cleaners were sweeping the aisles, but they looked up as Christine, Raoul, and Monsieur Firmin approached. They seemed to realize who Christine was, because they started whispering furiously amongst themselves. Their whispering must have attracted Carlotta's attention, because she suddenly stopped singing.

"What eez thees?" she demanded imperiously, striding to the front of the stage, her red and gold skirt sweeping the floor as she walked. "Deedn't I tell you to keep quiet when I am seenging?"

She had an odd way of speaking; she accentuated her I's like they were long E's, and she tended to sweep her arm in exaggerated gestures. Carlotta seemed to think it made her look grand, but Raoul thought it made her look ridiculous.

_Even my own mother doesn't do that when she wants to make a point,_ he thought with distaste.

"Monsieur Firmin!" Carlotta cried, summoning him to the stage with a slight twitch of her finger.

Monsieur Firmin held his ground, and this must have infuriated Carlotta.

"Seence when deed you refuse me?" she shrieked, and Christine was shocked. Never had she met such a demanding woman, and Christine felt a little scared of Carlotta. "Come here!"

One of the cleaners whispered something to one of the ballet dancers near the stage. The dancer's eyes widened and she tapped Carlotta on her arm.

It was a mistake.

Carlotta slapped her with such force that she was knocked on her back. Tears formed on the dancer's eyes, and Madame Giry rushed to Carlotta and grabbed Carlotta's arm roughly. The older woman spun Carlotta around to face her.

"You shall not hurt my ballerinas, Carlotta," Madame Giry hissed. "She was only trying to tell you something."

Carlotta wrenched her arm from Madame Giry's grasp and sneered. "Your dancers know better than to touch me, Madame Geery."

"You are unbelievable, woman," Raoul said as he made his way up to the stage. He offered his hand to the dancer who stood up shakily.

"And who are you?" Carlotta spat. Raoul's looks must have appealed to her, because her expression softened a bit. "Why are you meddling een thees opera's affairs?"

"If you would quiet down, Carlotta, there is someone you should be introduced to," Monsieur Firmin told her as he accompanied Christine up the stage.

"Who would that be?" Carlotta said, her eyes still on Raoul. He was offering his handkerchief to the dancer, who politely refused. Madame Giry was over her in a second, telling her she could rest in the dressing room if she wished.

Monsieur Firmin cleared his throat. "The Duchess of Wiltshire, Christine Juliet Daae."

Carlotta's eyes left Raoul's face and alighted on Christine. Due to years of breeding and lessons on proper etiquette, Christine knew that she should adopt an unfazed and calm demeanor. Inside, however, Christine was shaking.

"Mademoiselle Carlotta," Christine greeted, curtsying a little. Her eyes never left Carlotta's face, and she noticed that the singer was eyeing her up and down.

"Your Grace," she finally said, dipping down in a bad imitation of Christine's curtsy. "It is an honor to have you here. Pardon my behavior; I must have had too much to drink."

"I'm sure you have," Christine said, her tone cool and distant, and it made Carlotta feel as if the duchess didn't approve of her attitude towards the dancer minutes ago. A few of the male performers snickered, and Carlotta threw them dirty looks. "Please, continue with your rehearsal. I don't want you all to fall behind."

Raoul stood beside Christine, and the sight of the two of them must have annoyed Carlotta. The singer continued to look at Christine jealously. The girl still had her youth, plus she was devastatingly wealthy.

Word had reached Carlotta of the riches of the Daae family of England, and she knew that the father was widowed. Carlotta had imagined herself as the new Duchess every so often, and she could see herself dripping with diamonds and wrapped in costly furs.

Now here stood a girl half her age, with decades of life and riches before her. It made Carlotta jealous beyond words.

And her escort – oh!

The Viscount de Chagny, that's who he was. The two were the most sought-after aristocrats in England, and Carlotta knew from stories the dancers told that they were expected to marry. Raoul was handsome, with a face that reminded Carlotta of a god. He was a gentleman too, and Carlotta now understood why the ladies of the English and French courts were dying for a second look from him.

But it was obvious he was smitten with the Duchess, and the silly girl didn't even know about it.

"Thank you, Duchess," Carlotta said after some time. Raoul placed a hand on Christine's waist and led her down the stage. They sat on chairs in the middle of the hall, and some of the cleaners even came up to Christine and shook her hand.

_The girl is always smiling,_ Carlotta noted. With a twirl of her skirts, she motioned to the conductor to continue where they left off.

As the first notes left her voice, Carlotta marveled at how she was able to do one thing the duchess wasn't: to charm the very pants off the two opera owners and literally thrust her in the very center of the limelight.

* * *

"How did she even get on stage, Madame Giry?" Christine inquired as they walked towards the dining hall. "I've seen the plaque on her painting upstairs, but it only mentions her performing last Christmas."

Madame Giry had approached Christine earlier to apologize. At first the two had trouble communicating, owing to the way Carlotta was singing; it sounded as if she was trying to make the roof cave in on them.

Finally when the dancers broke into their dance, Madame Giry quickly explained that the formal dining hall hadn't been opened yet and they were to eat dinner in the actor's hall. Christine didn't mind, nor did Raoul.

Madame Giry looked around. "We don't know for certain, but rumors have it that she has an affair with Monsieur Andre."

"That explains everything," Raoul said, his hands clasped behind his back. "No wonder she feels as if she owns the opera house."

Christine remained silent. How can a woman use her body just to get something she wants? The very thought was unfathomable.

"Christine?" she heard Raoul say softly, and she turned her head to look at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes I am," she said, giving him a weak smile. "You shouldn't worry so, Raoul."

"I can't help it," he admitted.

"Why? Am I that dear a friend for you to worry over me like a mother hen?" Christine teased.

"You are my dearest friend, Christine," Raoul said. "Your safety and well-being will always be my main concern."

"How sweet." Christine took his hand and squeezed it gently.

Raoul loved her touch; so soft and smooth. Although he hated himself for thinking it, but he wondered how her touch would feel all over his body.

Christine looked at him again before they entered the dining hall, and he silently scolded himself for letting such thoughts enter his head. Her hand slipped from his grasp as she walked forward to greet the performers who had decided to eat in the opera house.

A few of the male players who were part of the play – Hannibal, according to Monsieur Firmin – rose and bowed their heads respectfully as Christine entered. The chubby cook even bowed, and Christine smiled warmly at all of them.

"Please, no formalities," Christine insisted as she took her seat. "I've had enough of that my entire life."

The uneasiness in the air vanished, and the performers continued their steady chatter. Raoul sat beside Christine and watched the other helpers set down bowls of steaming mushroom soup, freshly baked loaves of bread, and sliced ham.

It seemed to be more than what the performers were used to, because they gave murmurs of approval and began getting their share.

Christine ladled soup in her bowl and waited for it to cool. The ballet dancer sitting next to her asked how long she was going to stay.

"I'm not sure," Christine admitted. "Maybe when my business here is finished, and all my affairs regarding the finances of the opera house are settled."

"If that Carlotta didn't insist on such extravagant things, we wouldn't even be in this mess," a male performer declared, brandishing his spoon. "Plus the Monsieurs indulge her every whim. The last singers were better than her, and they weren't as demanding."

"What do you mean?" Raoul asked. "Carlotta is spending the opera house's money?"

"Aye," the cook piped in. They seemed to be waiting to air their thoughts to someone other than Monsieur Firmin and Andre, because they seemed more talkative now.

"She buys furs like they're going out of style!"

"She insists that her champagne is pink. If it's yellow, she'll throw it in your face, no matter if it's a good year!"

"Our wages were cut in half just so she'd get her own coach and horses!"

Christine put her hand over her heart. She was deeply affected by the things these people said about Carlotta. Carlotta was simply horrible; how could she be so selfless? All she cared about was getting her dresses and jewelry.

Carlotta reminded Christine of the other silly rich girls she met at the parties she and Raoul were invited to. At least they had their own money to burn. Carlotta, on the other hand, used the money of others to finance her wardrobe and vanities.

"I can't believe her," Raoul exclaimed. His tone was calm, but his eyes flashed. He had an expression Christine rarely saw: anger. "She's a silly vain woman. It's fortunate Christine and I are here."

"That's why we're grateful, Milady," the cook admitted, setting another soup tureen in front of Christine. "We're hoping you can find another singer who's nicer than she is."

"And with a better singing voice," one of the ballet dancers said, giggling. "Cora has to stuff her ears every time she's on." She nudged a woman in a dirty white maid's dress, who was washing the dishes.

"That I can agree on," Raoul said, raising his glass and toasting the woman. "Carlotta has no singing talent at all."

"Her voice is powerful," Christine added. "But that's all there is to it."

The men roared with laughter. "She sounds like a train wreck!"

Christine tasted the soup. It was thick and creamy, and was still slightly warm. It was like the soup her Nanny Margerethe used to make for her when she was sick.

"Cook?" she called. The cook approached, still clutching her spatula.

"Yes, your Ladyship?"

"What recipe did you use for the soup?"

"Oh. I borrowed it from a good friend of mine. She lives near the outskirts of the city; I see her every few weeks or so," the cook replied.

"It's delicious. It reminds me of the soup my Nanny Margerethe made for me when I was little," Christine shared.

The cook frowned. "Margerethe Fournier?"

"Why, yes," Christine said, surprised.

"That's the name of my friend, your Ladyship," the cook said.

"You know her? My former nanny is still alive?" Christine gasped, clutching the cook's hands. "Oh, you must give me her address!"

The cook smiled and nodded. "Yes yes, your Ladyship. I will. Now please, eat," she urged.

Christine thanked the kind cook and resumed eating. She believed that her nanny had died, but now that she knew, Christine felt hope.

_If Nanny Margarethe is still alive, then Erik must still be here,_ Christine thought happily. _Wait for me, Erik, I'm coming to find you._

* * *

"Why should she come here?" Carlotta screamed, throwing the covers off her naked body and walking to the dresser. She sat on the soft cushion and began brushing her hair. "Why, Gabriel?"

Gabriel Andre sighed and closed his eyes. "I told you, she's here to help finance the opera house."

Carlotta snorted. "I don't believe it's her. I expected someone older! Send her away, Gabriel!"

"Why does she infuriate you so, Carlotta? She's going to provide us the money we need in order for us to live a comfortable life," Andre reminded her, still not opening his eyes. "Besides, it was you who told me about her."

"I didn't think she was young! And beautiful! Even you are attracted to her, Gabriel, admit it!" Carlotta threw a half-empty perfume bottle at the wall, where it smashed. The soft, citrus aroma soon filled the room.

"I'm not," he said tiredly. "Now please, let me sleep, woman."

"Liar! You want to fuck her!" Carlotta raged.

The woman drove him mad. If she didn't satisfy his seemingly endless longing for sex, he would have thrown her out on the streets long ago. The beautiful Carlotta he met last Christmas Eve was now replaced with an old, saggy witch who had a foul mouth and an even fouler singing voice. If he and Firmin hadn't found out that she was fucking the both of them behind their backs, he probably would have agreed to her little scheme.

Carlotta had approached him one night and told him that the Duchess of Wiltshire was planning to sponsor the opera house; an act that was done by her father, the late Duke of Wiltshire.

"If we can get the money and run, we'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams!" she had said, baring the neckline of her dress so that he could see the plumpness of her breasts. "Please, Gabriel. For me? We can live far away from this wretched place and away from Theodore. We'll be free!"

He had agreed rather enthusiastically then, but mostly because he wanted to rub his hands all over those plump globes of hers. She had brushed him off and said she was late for rehearsal. Andre believed her, but as he made his way to his office later that day (when Carlotta was supposed to be in the performance hall), she heard her sighs of pleasure and the urgent grunting of another man.

"Oh Theodore," he heard her say. "You make me quiver with delight."

Andre's insides boiled. He thought he heard someone say "She's fucking your business partner," somewhere behind him, but he dismissed it. He was probably imagining things. He wanted to burst in on the two of them, but thought better of it.

That night he cornered Theodore Firmin and told him what Carlotta was doing.

"She's doing us, Theodore. She's using us both," he had hissed as they watched her perform an aria from Lucia de Lammermoor. "We can take the money and run."

"And leave her in the dust," Firmin had replied. "I agree. Why should she come with us? She'll only spend it all on useless garments."

The two had shook hands on the deal. Once the Duchess handed them the check for the money, they would take it and run. She would probably make it out to both their names, so by the time anyone had figured out the truth, especially Carlotta, they would be far, far away.

_Rant all you want, bitch,_ Andre thought, as he opened one eye to study Carlotta. She had thrown on one of her favorite fur coats and was studying the wrinkles under her eyes in the mirror. _Once Theodore and I have the money, we'll leave you to rot with the other sluts._

* * *

Christine waved to the other performers as they left the opera house. Most of them lived near the artistic district of the city, and they still had to walk home. Christine offered them money for a cab, but they refused.

"The walk helps us keep in shape, my Lady," the cook – Isabelle – said, handing the coins back to Christine. "But thank you for your concern. You and the Viscount take care yourselves."

Now, she and Raoul headed back to their rooms. On the way they bumped into Meg, who was sketching something on a pad of paper. Christine accidentally jostled Meg's arm, causing the latter to draw a thick line across her sketch.

"Be careful!" Meg cried angrily, throwing her pencil down on the floor. "Look at what you did!"

"I'm sorry," Christine said. "Is there any way I can fix it?"

"No, I don't think there is," Meg sneered. "You don't know how to draw, and you'll probably ruin my drawing."

"Meg!" Madame Giry scolded, coming up behind Christine and Raoul.

"She didn't mean it, Meg," Raoul added, placing a supporting hand on Christine's arm. "I'm sure it isn't that bad."

Meg snorted and thrust her sketchpad in Christine's face. Christine saw a sketch of a man, although Meg hadn't started drawing his face yet. A black, thick line was drawn from one point of the paper to the very bottom.

"Oh Meg, I really am sor-"

"Save it," Meg said scathingly, snapping her pad shut. "You're useless."

"Meg!" Madame Giry said in a warning tone. "Let it go."

Meg began to say something, but Raoul stepped towards her. "Christine didn't mean it. Now why don't you be a good girl and follow your mother?"

With a snotty huff, Meg turned on her heels and walked away.

Christine sighed. "I'm sorry, Madame Giry. I seem to be quite clumsy today."

"Nonsense, Christine. You didn't mean to ruin her sketch," Raoul told her.

"She hasn't forgiven me, that's why she's so horrible towards me," Christine said softly, her eyes lowering to the ground. "I always wanted to be friends with her, but she always refused. Perhaps it was because of Er-"

Christine stopped suddenly. She was about to say 'Erik', but stopped herself just in time. "Erline," she finished.

"She still shouldn't be so cold to you, Christine. I don't know why you let her," Raoul chided her gently.

"I think there's still a part of me that wishes Meg and I could be friends," Christine said wistfully.

_Although I mostly wish to see _you_, Erik, _Christine thought. _If you can see me, if you're still here, show yourself._


	4. Chapter 4: A Ghost from the Past

**Chapter Four: A Ghost from the Past**

Raoul tapped on Christine's door. It was an hour after they had dinner with the other performers, and Raoul had found himself enjoying their company. But now he had other things on his mind – the party at Eugene Colbert's house, for instance.

"Come in," Christine said from inside, and Raoul opened the door and went inside. He expected to see Christine in one of her party gowns, which was why he was surprised to see her in her robe and nightgown.

"Christine? Why aren't you ready yet?" he said finally, after a few seconds of awkward silence. "The coach is about to leave."

Christine frowned slightly, before realization dawned on her eyes. "Oh dear, Eugene's party. I completely forgot."

"Well we can arrive a little late, if you still need time to prepare," Raoul offered. "I can tell the driver to wait."

"No, you go ahead, Raoul," Christine said, rubbing her temples. "I just want to go to bed and sleep."

Raoul hesitated. He wanted Christine to go with him to the party – he had hoped to tell her how he really felt about her. So far they've been surrounded by people the moment they left England, and now, perhaps he could find the perfect time to tell her how he felt at Eugene's party.

"Raoul?" Christine looked at him curiously. "Aren't you going to be late?"

"Oh, right." Raoul snapped back to his senses. "I'll tell Eugene you weren't feeling well. Pleasant dreams, dear Christine."

She laughed and waved him away. "Go on. I'll be fine. Have fun!"

Raoul managed a hearty smile and went out of her room. He was disappointed. But in a way, he was pleased. Perhaps it was the fact that he got to see Christine in her nightgown, how the flimsy but silky cloth hugged the curves of her breasts perfectly, how he was able to see inches of her soft, bare leg underneath the nearly transparent white cloth that served as her night robe.

_Stop it,_ Raoul scolded himself silently. _What has gotten into you, de Chagny?_

But Raoul knew exactly why he was thinking the things he was lately. It was because he desired Christine Daae, more than anything else in the world.

And he would do virtually anything to make her his.

* * *

Christine gave a soft sigh and snuggled under the covers. She half-expected Erik to jump out from under the bed and surprise her, just like he used to whenever she was about to sleep. She always locked the door to see if he could find a way in, and somehow, he always did.

But tonight, there was no Erik.

Christine sighed again, her breath forming a mist near her mouth. It wasn't particularly cold in her room, but then again, it wasn't warm, either. Christine threw the covers off of her and walked towards the fireplace. The embers were low, but a small fire still danced around the logs. Christine picked up a log from the pile of wood near the fireplace and threw one in.

Christine felt exhausted, but she wasn't sleepy. She only said that to get Raoul to go to the party without her; she wanted to look for Erik herself. She dipped her fingers on the cool water that trickled down from the fountain and approached the dresser.

As she reached down, Christine saw a bright red rose sitting near the edge of the dresser. A black silk ribbon was tied in a bow around the stem.

At first she thought it came from Raoul, until she noticed a small, gold "E" at the bottom of the ribbon.

"Erik," Christine murmured, taking the rose and smelling it. The stem didn't have any thorns (apparently, Erik had removed them before placing it on her dresser), so Christine was able to hold the stem without pricking her finger.

She smiled and set the rose down on the dresser and picked up the new silver brush. After she brushed her hair briskly a few times, Christine made a move to return to bed. As she put the hairbrush down, she heard a low _whoosh_, like wind escaping from a tightly closed room.

"Chrissy," a low whisper hissed through the room. "Chrissy..."

"Erik?" Christine called out. Her voice echoed throughout the empty room. She held herself tighter and looked around. "Erik? Is that you?"

"Chrissy, follow me," the voice said, and Christine was able to make out the sound of running footsteps.

With a short laugh, Christine wrenched open the door and stepped out onto the hallway. She heard her name being called, and she promptly followed in the direction of the voice.

"Erik, wait!" Christine cried as she ran down the hallway. Her robe and nightgown billowed around her, like a soft white cloud. "You know I can't run fast!"

The footsteps stopped, and Christine heard someone chuckling. "Run faster, then," the voice said.

The portraits of the previous divas flew past as Christine ran deeper down the hallway. She finally stopped at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

"Up," the voice instructed, and Christine obeyed.

The staircase seemed to wind on forever, until Christine stopped in front of a large, oak door. She hesitated a split second before she pushed it open.

The cold night air blasted her in the face, causing her to gasp in surprise. It was only then when Christine realized that she was wearing only a few thin sheets of cloth to protect her body from the night air.

"Erik?" Christine called, stepping away from the door. It swung shut with ease.

Christine walked further away from the door, and as she surveyed the tall granite sculptures of mythological creatures, she couldn't help but remember that night so many years ago.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Paris Opera House, 1857**_

"_Christine, calm down, mon Cherie!" Nanny Margerethe pleaded. "Your father is in a meeting!"_

"_No! I want to know why he has taken Mummy from her bed! I want to see him now!" Christine screamed, preparing herself for a full blown tantrum. "I want him here!"_

_Nanny Margerethe sighed and threw up her hands. "I don't know what to do, Madame Giry. She insists on seeing her father."_

"_Hush child," Madame Giry said, kneeling down on the floor so that she could be face-to-face with Christine. "Your father is an important man; he has things to attend to."_

"_NO!" Christine cried, stomping her little feet. "He shouldn't have taken Mummy away! I want him to put her back!"_

_Madame Giry smiled, her expression full of understanding. "Can't you talk to me, my dear?"_

_Christine shook her head, her curls bouncing. "I want my father!"_

_Nanny Margerethe sank into one of the armchairs and fanned herself with her hands. The entire day Christine had ranted and raged about how her father had taken her Mummy away. Gustav Daae had had his deceased wife exhumed from her grave in Wiltshire, England, and had her remains buried yesterday in the graveyard in Paris._

_The decision was late, he knew, but he had been completely busy for the past few years with certain affairs – and dealing with his adorable and inquisitive daughter – that he was only able to make the trip to Paris only now._

_Unfortunately, he seemed to have stirred his daughter's ire._

_Madame Giry's daughter, Meg, rolled her eyes. "She's impossible, Mother," she said snottily. "Just leave her alone."_

_Christine burst into tears. "That's what everyone says at home! They always leave me alone! Well, if you all don't want me around, then I don't want to be around any of you!" Christine flew out of the room, her little feet thumping against the thick carpet._

"_Mon Cherie, wait!" Nanny Margerethe yelled, calling after her little charge. Christine, however, seemed to have disappeared in a flash._

"_Good riddance," Meg whispered. Unfortunately for her, her mother heard her and delivered a swift spanking._

_Christine ran and ran, not caring where she ended up in. All her life she was left in the care of her nanny, and she hardly saw her father. She knew from her nanny's stories that he always came into her bedroom and kissed her goodnight, but Christine wanted to see _him_. _

_Christine was a poor little rich girl, one who hungered for love and attention of a parent. Nanny Margerethe was well enough and Christine loved her, but nothing could replace the love of a mother. For years Christine watched jealously as her friends shopped with their mothers, went for long walks in the garden with their mothers, hugged and kissed their mothers, and laughed whenever their mothers ran after them._

_She never had any of that._

All I want is my father,_Christine thought sadly. _But he doesn't seem to want me.

_Despite being surrounded by costly toys and dolls and dresses, Christine would have gladly given these all up for one day with her mother._

_Christine finally stopped running and looked around. She saw a flight of stairs before her, and she followed these until she went through a grand archway. She was on the rooftop of the opera house, and large dark shapes loomed before her. _

_The icy winter wind whipped around her, but Christine ignored it. She saw that her footsteps made marks in the snow, and that made her smile a little. Christine began skipping around the rooftop, her anger at her father momentarily forgotten._

_As Christine skipped near the balcony, she looked down and saw her father standing outside a carriage._

"_Just find her, alright? I can't deal with her tantrums right now," Gustav said wearily. "I'll be back in the morning. I have a lot of things to do. Tell Christine we can visit her mother tomorrow, and I'll bring her to that doll store she liked. I honestly don't know what to do with her anymore, Madame Giry. She's becoming impossible." _

_Pause._

_Gustav sighed, rubbed his temples slightly, and then looked tiredly at Madame Giry, who was obscured from Christine's view. "Take care of her, Madame Giry, please."_

"_I will, my Lord." Madame Giry replied. "Have a safe trip."_

_Gustav nodded once and disappeared inside the carriage. The driver cracked the whip and the horses surged forward, their hooves clopping on the cobbled street. _

_Christine couldn't believe her ears. That was proof of her father's lack of love for her. Although Christine was only five years old, she understood every word._

_Hot tears fell fast from her eyes, and Christine sank to the ground, sobbing. She pressed her back against the cool stone and buried her head in her hands. It wasn't long before she realized that she was being watched._

_Christine looked up and saw a young boy sitting on one of the statues, his face turned towards her. Christine couldn't see his face – it was covered by a tacky, lumpy brown sack that had frayed edges. There were holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth, but the rest of the sack covered his face._

"_Who – who are you?" Christine asked, her voice shaking slightly. _

"_I've been watching you," he replied. "I know you're sad and lonely, like me."_

"_You don't know me," Christine snapped, but instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."_

_The boy jumped down from the statue and stood facing her. "It's alright. My name is Erik."_

"_Christine," she replied, still not getting up. _

"_Isn't this the part where you stand up and curtsy?" Erik asked her, his tone teasing._

_Christine nodded. "But I'm not in the mood. Go away, please."_

"_Why? I thought you were lonely. I'm here to keep you company," Erik said, walking over to her and sitting down cross-legged beside her._

_Christine inhaled and almost coughed; he smelled bad. Erik must have noticed her reaction, because he suddenly shifted away from her._

"_Sorry. It's been a while since I had a bath," he said sheepishly._

"_No, it's fine," Christine lied. "Why haven't you had a bath? And why are you wearing that silly little mask?"_

"_It's not silly, it's from my mother," Erik replied defensively. "I never take it off because I got used to it."_

"_Oh." Christine sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Where are your parents now?"_

"_Somewhere," Erik said vaguely. "Yours?"_

"_Mummy's dead, and my papa doesn't love me." Christine thought it sounded pathetic, and that made her cry even more._

"_Shhhh, stop crying, Chrissy," Erik said, causing Christine to look at him._

"_What did you call me?"_

"_Oh, uh, err – Chrissy," Erik stammered. "I heard them call you Christine, but it's a real mouthful so I called you Chrissy."_

"_Chrissy. I like that," Christine said, smiling a little._

"_So are you going to start crying again?"_

_Christine shrugged. "I'm really sad, Erik. What do you do when you're sad?"_

"_I don't know. Do something else?" Erik picked up a pinch of snow and sprinkled some on Christine's hair._

"_Hey!" she protested, and she grabbed a fistful of snow beside her and flung it at him._

_Erik laughed and reciprocated, and soon the two were throwing fistfuls of snow at each other._

"_Catch me!" Christine giggled, and she picked up her skirts and began running. She hadn't even reached the next statue when Erik grabbed her arm._

"_Got you!" he cried, delighted. "You're it!"_

_Christine pouted but recovered quickly. She turned and chased Erik, who was quick and nimble on his feet. Just as Christine was about to seize his shirt, he leaped out of the way._

"_No fair!" Christine cried. "I can't do that!"_

_Erik laughed. "Fine, let's do something else."_

"_Tell me more about you," Christine said immediately._

"_You want to know more about me?" Erik was surprised. He thought Christine would want to talk about her problems with her father, but he remembered that she was five._

Girls like her aren't as absorbed with their problems as others,_ he thought. _She bounces back from her sadness quickly.

_How he wished he could be like her. _

_Erik smiled and began leading her inside._

"_Oh no," Christine said meekly, tugging his arm. "I don't want to go inside."_

"_But if we stay here any longer, you might catch a cold," Erik told her, worry creasing his forehead (although Christine didn't see it, of course). _

"_If I go back in there, they'll find me," she replied. "They always do."_

"_Don't worry, you're with me now. I'll show you the best hiding places." Erik extended his arm and Christine took his hand._

_They went inside, and the warmth of the opera house told them just how cold it really was outside. Erik immediately led Christine through hallways. She expected Madame Giry or one of those burly stagehands to jump out at them and then drag her back to the loving arms of her Nanny Margerethe, but they met no one._

_Finally, Erik led her inside a room full of fancy dresses and hats: the costume room. He pulled up a chair for her, and Christine sat down._

"_Thank you. Now tell me about you!" she giggled, clapping her hands._

"_What do you want to know?" Erik had perched on one of the costume trunks and was swinging his legs back and forth. Every so often his foot thumped on the trunk. For the first time Christine saw that he was wearing worn boots; she could even see his big toe through the leather._

"_How old are you?"_

_Erik laughed. "Way older than you."_

"_How old?" she pressed. "Are you 25?"_

"_Not _that _old. I'm still a kid, like you." Erik crossed his arms in front of him._

"_Do you live nearby?"_

"_I live here," Erik replied, throwing his arms wide. "I hardly go out. Can you imagine living in a better place than the Paris Opera House?"_

"_No," Christine admitted. The opera house was larger and fancier than her house back in Wiltshire, and it wasn't as empty. "How I wish I could live here too. Then we could play all day long!"_

"_I'd like that."_

_Christine noticed that Erik's voice was a bit muffled by the mask, and she frowned._

"_Can you take off your mask? I want to see your face," Christine pleaded. "Please?"_

_He shook his head. "Not yet. Maybe when you're much, much older."_

"_Please? I promise I won't tell anyone," Christine said. _

_When Erik refused, she pouted. A split second later she hopped off the chair and walked to a dress on display. It was pearly white and had a V-neckline, while the skirt reminded Christine of white rose petals placed one on top of another._

"_I want to have this dress when I'm much, much older," she declared loudly._

"_You do?"_

"_Of course I do! See? It's really pretty." Christine held a fistful of the skirt and waved it about. "What about you, Erik? What do you want to wear when you grow up?"_

_Erik thought for a moment. "Anything other than this," he said after some time. _

"_Like this?" Christine walked over a mannequin that had a black tuxedo and a long black cape._

"_Yes, that one," Erik agreed. "I think it'll suit me."_

"_If you wear that, then we can go to parties together!" Christine exclaimed, grinning widely at him. _

"_You'd want to be seen in public with me?"_

"_Of course, silly Erik. You're my friend, aren't you?"_

_Friend._

_Nobody had called Erik their friend, and to hear it from an angel like Christine – it was like music to his ears._


	5. Chapter 5: An Old Friend

**Chapter Five: An Old Friend**

_**Paris Opera House, 1957**_

"_So how are things with you and your papa, Chrissy?"_

_Christine was tracing squiggly shapes on the snow outside, while Erik was trying to balance himself on the balcony. "He's busy, as always," she murmured absent-mindedly. "I hardly see him anymore."_

"_And you're okay with that?"_

"_Well, I have you and Nanny Margerethe," Christine replied simply, still not looking up. "I don't need anyone else."_

_Since Christine's back was turned, Erik was able to lift his mask and study Christine properly. He was five years older than her, and in a few years' time he would be expected to start a family of his own. Unfortunately, he didn't think he could ever have children or a wife._

_He was a monster._

_His mother had given birth to him and had shuddered at the very sight of her son. Part of his face was wrinkled, and the skin around his eyes sunk into his skull, giving the impression of him having an abnormally large eye. The first thing he had remembered of his early childhood was his mother flinging the dirty brown sack he now wore. _

"_Useless filth!" she had cried, taking a hearty swig of ale. "Go out and scare the robbers, why don't you?"_

_There was no love in her heart for him, and he had heard her say that he would never feel a woman's touch. Back then he didn't know what she meant, but after seeing little Christine Daae, he knew._

_She meant that he would never feel the loving embrace of a woman, and that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life alone. _

_Christine, however, never flinched from his touch, and she was always genuinely happy to see him. It wasn't hard for him to consider her his dearest and only friend. _

_After their first meeting Erik stole inside the common bathroom and gave himself a very thorough bath (a first in many, many months). The next time he and Christine had met near the empty performance hall, she complimented him on his nice smell and then said nothing more about it._

_It was nearly five months after their first meeting, and Erik felt closer to her than anybody else in the world. She knew all his secrets, all his hopes and dreams, and he knew hers. Although she was young, she was very perceptive for her age. Now, she was turning a year older in a few weeks' time, and he planned to surprise her._

_But how?_

_As the only daughter of the Duke of Wiltshire, Christine Daae had everything. Servants to tend to her every whim, countless dresses, nice, comfortable shoes, and a father who could give her anything she wanted._

_He, on the other hand, had not a penny to his name. But what Erik had was his resourcefulness. And he planned to use this talent to get Christine a birthday present she would never forget._

"_Erik? You're thinking too much again," Christine accused. "You're too quiet!"_

"_Sorry," he said, while covering his face with the mask again. "Did you want me to tell you a story?"_

"_No, I want you to help me think of something to give Papa." Christine made him feel as if they were going to discuss their father and not just hers. "I know it's my birthday soon, but I want him to know that I still think of him, and that I'm sorry for being mad at him."_

"_So you miss him," Erik stated, taking a seat on the balcony. "Why don't you just tell him?"_

"_I'm afraid to. He might be too busy or tell nanny to send me away again," Christine admitted, her lower lip trembling. _

_Erik sensed she was about to cry and he immediately jumped down from the balcony and began tickling her. _

_Christine giggled and wrenched away from him. She tumbled a bit on the snow, but was on her feet a few seconds later. "Erik! I don't want to be tickled!"_

"_Oh come on, Chrissy," he coaxed, his fingers wiggling. "It's much more fun than crying."_

"_No!" Christine cried, laughing as Erik chased her all over. They were so immersed with their little game that they failed to notice Meg approach._

_Christine ducked behind a statue and came face-to-face with Meg, whose bright green eyes glared at her. Erik, who was unaware of Meg's presence, went the other way around the statue and grabbed Meg by the waist, thinking it was Christine._

_Meg gave a loud shriek, which startled Erik. _

"_Put me down, you… you ruffian!" Meg demanded, her little arms flailing. Her hand collided with the side of Erik's head. _

_Erik let go of Meg immediately, and she fell to the ground. _

"_Meg! What are you doing here?" Christine asked, while Erik looked down at her, massaging the spot where Meg "punched" him._

_Meg glared at Christine as she stood up. There was snow on her skirt, and her hair had white flecks of snow. "I knew it! I knew you had a smelly, grubby, poor boy up here with you! Wait until my mother hears about this!"_

"_Meg, Erik isn't bad. He doesn't mean us any harm," Christine said, going over to Erik's side. _

"_No harm? Look at what he did to me! He dropped me on the snow!" Meg cried indignantly._

"_Well, you did tell him to put you down," Christine pointed out._

_Meg opened her mouth and then closed it, obviously at a loss for words. She recovered, and then pointed an accusatory finger at Erik. "He still hurt me! Mother is going to hear about this, and when she does, he'll be out in the snow!"_

"_No, Meg, please! Erik doesn't have anywhere else to go!" Christine grabbed Meg's arm and shook it slightly. _

_Meg wrenched her arm away and shook her head. "No! He'll hurt me again if I don't say anything, I know it! Mother!"_

"_Oh no, hide, Erik!" Christine said, grabbing Erik's hand. "You have to hide! If they catch you, they'll torture you with machines!"_

"_I don't think they'll do that, Chrissy," Erik said calmly. "You're exaggerating."_

"_Fine, but they'll kick you out of the opera house at the very least! Please, go! I'll go after her." Christine made a move to follow Meg, but Erik clamped down on her hand._

"_You don't run very fast," he reminded her._

_Christine tugged at Erik, telling him to let her go. He did, and Christine was off. "I'll see you later!" she called behind her._

_She didn't know if he heard her or not, because she had ducked inside and followed Meg's frantic screams for Madame Giry._

"_Meg, wait!" Christine called, but Meg ignored her. The two girls ran down to the performance hall and bumped into one of the ballerinas who was leaving the performance hall._

"_Meg! My lady! Why are you out of breath?" the ballerina asked, kneeling before them. "Is something wrong?"_

"_There's a filthy boy in the opera house and I want him out now!" Meg cried._

"_Don't listen to her, she's lying!" Christine demanded at the same time._

"_Liar!"_

"_Am not!"_

"_Are too! You know there's a boy here, and you're just covering it up!"_

_The ballerina's eyes widened, and she went inside the performance hall to call Madame Giry. The two girls' screaming match didn't go unnoticed however, as the rest of the performers, including Madame Giry, had exited the performance hall._

"_Meg! Christine! What is going on?" Madame Giry asked, her gaze resting on her daughter and then on Christine._

"_Mother, Christine has a horrible friend! He's hiding in the opera house this minute!" Meg blurted out, while pointing a finger dramatically in Christine's direction. "He should be cast out!"_

_Madame Giry looked at Christine, who was glowering at Meg. "Christine? Is this true?"_

"_Of course not!" Christine said furiously. "Meg is lying! She just wants attention!"_

"_I do not! Mother, have the opera house searched! You'll find him, and you'll know she's lying!" Meg screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You have to believe me, Mother!"_

"_Calm down, Meg, we'll sort this out," Madame Giry said soothingly._

"_No! I know you believe her! You never believe me, Mother!" Meg cried, and she dashed away from the group, her sobs loud and unconvincing._

_Christine didn't cry; she knew nothing could be solved by crying. Erik had taught her that._

_Madame Giry put a hand to her forehead and sighed. "Get back inside," she told the rest of the performers, who quickly went back inside the performance hall. A few of them started chattering about Meg and Christine, while others looked tired._

"_Madame Giry? I – I wasn't lying," Christine said in a small voice. "But I'm not calling Meg a liar, either."_

"_Oh Christine, I should be sorry," Madame Giry told the little girl who seemed wiser than her years. "Run along, now."_

"_You won't send people to search the opera house?" Christine was surprised. She thought that Madame Giry would send a few stagehands or helpers to look for Erik, at the very least._

_Madame Giry shook her head. "We're short of time. Besides, I believe you."_

_Christine should have felt better at those words, but she didn't. "What about Meg?"_

"_I'll deal with Meg later. Right now I should be getting back to rehearsals. And you –" – Madame Giry gave Christine a fond nudge – "you continue playing. Your father will be back soon."_

"_Really? When?"_

"_Tonight. Now go, my dear. Your nanny might want to give you a bath before your father arrives," Madame Giry said. _

_Christine gave a small squeal of delight and ran in the direction of her room._

_Madame Giry watched her go._

If only my Meg were like you, Christine,_ she thought wistfully. _

_Madame Giry thought that she was the only one watching Christine, but she was wrong. High above her, Erik covered the small peephole he had placed on the ceiling._

_He hated Meg Giry. First, she ruined his time with Christine, and now, the silly girl thinks she can have me removed from the opera house. She even dares call Chrissy a liar. _

I'll get you, Meg,_ Erik vowed. _One way or another, I'll make you pay for the things you're doing to me and Christine.

* * *

It's not fair,_ Meg thought angrily, throwing her favorite porcelain doll, Molly, into the wall. The doll's face broke, and the tiny arms and legs flew in different directions. The sight of her favorite doll decapitated only made Meg howl louder._

"_I hate her!" she screamed, throwing herself on the bed and pounding her little fists on the mattress. "I hate them both!"_

_Meg heard running footsteps, and a few seconds later, Kara, one of her mother's ballet students, peeked in._

"_Meg? Sweetie, are you alright?" Kara asked._

"_No! Do I look alright? Just get out! Get out!" Meg screamed, throwing a pillow at Kara. The older girl easily ducked the flying pillow and closed the door._

_Kara's easy compliance made Meg angrier; she had expected Kara to enter the room and ask her to calm down._

"_Well, I won't!" she screamed. Her face was dotted with tears and she knew she looked horrible, but Meg didn't care. She wanted her mother to believe _her_, and not that snotty rich brat Christine. "I won't calm down and I won't stop!"_

_Meg buried her head in a pillow and continued screaming. Although she knew that her mother wouldn't be back for a few more hours – stupid rehearsal – Meg wanted to be miserable-looking so that her mother would feel pity for her poor daughter._

"_You'll never be like her, you know," a calm, male voice said from behind her._

_Meg whipped onto her back and saw the grubby boy from the rooftop. "You!"_

_The boy's face was covered with a dirty sack, and Meg had the irresistible urge to tear it off his face. The only clue Meg had to the boy's real emotions was his voice._

"_You're a drama queen, aren't you," the boy remarked, his face still turned towards her. "You'll never be her, Meg. Never."_

"_Shut up!" Meg shrieked, flinging another pillow at the boy. Like Kara, the boy easily dodged the pillow, his eyes, visible thanks to the eye holes, never leaving her face. "Shut up shut up shut up!"_

"_Make me," the boy retorted. "Poor Meg. I pity you, I really do. Christine will always be better than you and all you can do is wallow in your own dirt."_

_Meg screamed, feeling as if her throat would rip apart, but she didn't care._

_The boy laughed meanly, and left the room._

_His sudden departure left Meg stunned; like Kara, she had expected him to linger. Part of her wanted him to linger._

_Meg pounded the bed and began sobbing real tears this time. Everything the boy said was true. Christine was wealthy. Meg and her mother relied on the opera house for their home and money. Christine could go to England, Paris, Greece, and other fabulous cities without thinking about the cost. Meg hardly went to the other side of Paris in a carriage. _

_Everything Christine had, Meg had the opposite. It was a bitter truth, and Meg wasn't even sure that she wanted to accept it._

_

* * *

_

_Christine practically flew down the stairs and ran into the grand ballroom. There was her father, standing in front of a table with a number of his close friends and their children. Little Eugene Colbert was there, as well as Georgiana Thornby and Lucilla Eccleston. Behind her father was a huge pink cake, with six candles all aligned in a small "C"._

"_Happy birthday, Christine!" the group chorused, and Christine couldn't help but smile widely._

"_Papa!" she cried, and Gustav opened his arms for his beloved daughter. "Thank you, Papa!"_

"_Oh my darling daughter," Gustav said, hugging his daughter tightly. "Forgive me for not being here for you."_

"_I missed you, Papa," Christine said, burying her face in his thick, dark hair. "Don't go away ever again."_

"_Never again, my little princess," Gustav promised. "I shall never leave you."_

_The rest of the group witnessed this loving exchange, and they all smiled. A few mothers even brought out their handkerchiefs and wiped away the tears that had spilled from their eyes. They all knew that father and daughter were once on bad terms, due to the incident involving the late Duchess' new burial place._

_Now, like a miracle, Christine had forgiven her father and things seemed like they were before._

_Unlike them, Christine knew that it was no miracle. Erik, her dearest and closest friend, had taught her to cherish her father before it was too late. His birthday present to her, he said, was to bring her father here on her birthday instead of going to Malta._

_Unknown to Christine, Erik had written to Gustav about how much his daughter missed him. The letter was so touching, that Gustav dropped everything and had rushed to the opera house in time to plan this grand birthday party for Christine._

_Christine owed him her happiness, and she knew that her reconciliation with her papa was a gift from Erik that she would never, ever forget. _

"_So, shall we open your presents, Christine?" Gustav asked, putting Christine down on the floor._

"_Presents!" the children chanted, and Christine nodded. _

_Soon enough, the sound of tearing paper was heard, and the floor of the grand ballroom was littered with gift wrappers and ribbons. _

_Christine got new dresses, a pair of dainty purple satin slippers, two new porcelain dolls, and a fur coat. As Christine looked at her new dolls, she felt a slight pang of guilt. Erik had told her that Meg's favorite doll was destroyed, and now the girl had only her threadbare teddy bear and a rubber ball to keep her company._

_Without any hesitation at all, Christine took one of her new porcelain dolls and walked over to Madame Giry. Meg had been grounded for her behavior a few weeks ago, and she was still in her room. Gustav had a cake slice and some fruits sent to Meg to help cheer the little girl up, and Christine was determined to do her end. _

"_Happy birthday, dear Christine," Madame Giry greeted as Christine approached. "Oh, what a lovely doll."_

"_Madam Giry, I want to give this to Meg," Christine said, holding the doll up to Madame Giry. "Can you take this to her, please? I know if I give it to her, she'll only get mad at me."_

_Madame Giry was speechless. This was Christine's birthday party, and yet here she was, offering one of her presents to give to Meg._

"_Christine, I don't know what to say," Madame Giry said. "It's your gift."_

"_Yes, and I can do with it whatever I want," Christine insisted. "Please, Madame Giry."_

_With a sigh, Madame Giry took the doll from Christine. _Meg would love this doll,_ Madame Giry thought. _I know how much she loved Molly, and this is the best replacement.

_To Christine, Madame Giry said: "Thank you."_

_The girl brightened immediately, and then skipped towards her small group of friends. _

_Gustav walked towards Madame Giry and positioned himself beside her. "What did my daughter say, Madame Giry?"_

"_She wanted me to give this to Meg," Madame Giry replied, still looking awkward holding the doll. "Should I, my Lord?"_

_Gustav chuckled. "My daughter can do whatever she wants with her presents. If she wants to give the doll away, then let her."_

"_I cannot thank her enough, my Lord," Madame Giry admitted. "I can hardly buy a new doll for Meg, and now she's giving my daughter one of her own presents."_

"_She'll grow up to be a lovely young lady," Gustav said proudly. "Her heart is in the right place."_

_Madame Giry nodded. "May I be excused? I need to give Meg her new doll."_

_Gustav nodded his head once, and Madame Giry left. Gustav continued smiling at Christine, who was now skipping in a circle while singing "Ring Around the Rosie."_

* * *

"_Mmmm," Erik said through a mouthful of cake. "This cake is delicious!"_

_As he spoke, small chunks of wet cake flew through the air. Christine giggled and pointed at Erik._

"_What?" Erik asked. "Do I have something on my face?"_

"_You have icing on your mask!" Christine cried gleefully. "You look silly!"_

_Erik grinned. "I do?" He began wiping the icing off his mouth and licking it with gusto._

"_Now you don't," Christine said after a while. "Do it again!"_

"_No way," Erik said, finishing the last of the cake. "Thanks for saving me some cake and fruits, Chrissy."_

_She smiled. "Like I'd ever forget you."_

_Erik smiled. He liked the sound of that._

_That single phrase of Christine's kept him going, even during the long years of staying alone in the opera house._

Like I'd ever forget you, Erik.

_And she didn't._


	6. Chapter 6: Hide and Seek

**Chapter Six: Hide and Seek**

_**Paris Opera House, 1958**_

"_Ready or not, here I come!" _

_Christine Daae was now six years old, and according to Erik, she had gotten a little taller. She still had trouble chasing him due to her rather small feet, which was why they had given up on their frantic games of tag._

_Now they were playing hide and seek backstage. A performance was raging onstage, so hardly anyone paid any attention to the six year old girl clad in a royal blue dress with white laces who was running to the different corners of the backstage, seeking her playmate._

_It seemed impossible, but the beauty Christine had inherited from her mother was already starting to show. Gustav had been observing the many admiring glances his young daughter was drawing from the older sons of some of his friends, and they were about twice her age. Like most aristocratic fathers, Gustav was already entertaining requests for Christine's hand in marriage._

_Among the suitors was Eugene Colbert's father, Henry, as well as Armand de Chagny, the Viscount of Klondike. Armand's son, Raoul de Chagny, was also six years old, but he had the talent of a 12 year old when it came to sword fighting. His father paraded his son's uncanny ability to disarm a full grown man of his sword seconds into the duel._

"_He'll defend his lady to the death, that's for certain," Armand had said during their last meeting. He was looking meaningfully at Gustav, who knew that Armand was telling him that he was interested to have Christine as his daughter-in-law._

_Although Gustav knew it was proper etiquette to find a future husband for his only daughter, he kept putting it off. He knew he had been busy for most of Christine's childhood, and now, it would be only a matter of years before another man claimed her as his own._

_His little girl…_

_Was busy running around the opera house, chasing Erik._

_Erik knew of the talks Gustav had with other men of his rank and it infuriated Erik. Christine was still a child, and yet they were discussing her as if she was their personal cattle. Every time Erik thought about that haughty Armand de Chagny, his blood began to boil._

_It was evident to everyone Armand's eagerness to have his son "breed" from Christine, and Erik hated to think of Christine in such terms. She was beautiful, pure, and innocent, and yet these old men were describing her as if she was already their whore._

If I could only take you away from them, Christine,_ Erik thought longingly as he ducked further behind the fur coats in the hallway closet. _They'll never touch you the way I think they want their sons to touch you. I'll make sure of that.

_As he inhaled, a few fibers tickled his nose, sending him an irresistible urge to sneeze._

Oh no, don't sneeze, Erik,_ he pleaded silently._

_Too late._

"_Achoo!" Erik sneezed loudly, and just as he expected, the door to the closet was flung wide open and Christine's gleeful face peeked through the coats._

"_Caught you!" she giggled, grabbing his arm. "I win again!" _

_Erik groaned. "Not again."_

_Christine smiled and pulled him out of the closet. Their arms touched, and Erik blushed. Christine, however, simply smiled at him again before pulling him with her. "Let's go. Meg might be on the lookout again."_

_Erik adjusted his mask with his free hand and his movement caught Christine's eye. "Are you sure you still won't let me see what's behind your mask?"_

"_No, you're not old enough," he told her, allowing himself to be pulled by a six year old. "When you're much, much older."_

"_You mean when I'm a crabby old grandmother who's forgotten all about it," she said. "That's unfair."_

"_No it isn't. Trust me Christine, when the time is right, I promise to let you take my mask off."_

"_Promise?"_

_Erik nodded. _

_Christine grinned, and Erik marveled at how her smile enhanced her beauty. "I'll always catch you, Erik."_

"_Really? What made you think so?" he asked. She had released her grip on him and they were now walking side by side. _

_Christine frowned a little, and then shrugged. "I don't know. It's like I can sense you, whether you're near me or not. It's hard to explain."_

"_I understand. So that means I can never sneak up on you, eh?" Erik chuckled. "Too bad."_

"_Yes, you'll never sneak up on me, Erik, because I'll know you're there. Always."_

* * *

_**Paris Opera House, 1870**_

Always.

_Erik's here, I can feel him, _Christine thought happily.

Despite the cold seeping through her nightgown, Christine walked all over the rooftop. She touched the spot where she had curled up crying many years ago. And there – there was the statue where she first laid eyes on Erik.

"Erik, I know you're here," she called, the wind causing her nightgown and robe to whip around her legs. It was getting chilly, but Christine ignored the cold. "You can come out now."

Silence.

Christine sighed. If Erik refused to show himself, fine.

As she made her way back to the door, she saw a black cape whip out of sight. She smiled and closed her eyes. A crunch of gravel sounded behind her, and she whipped around suddenly. When she did so, her hands grasped the smooth fabric of a jacket.

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared up at a tall, slightly pale man with powerful arms and a rather big body. He could have easily engulfed her in his arms, but for the moment his eyes rested on her. Christine saw that the left half of his face was covered by a white mask.

"Erik," Christine breathed, and the man smiled.

"You caught me."

With a delighted laugh, Christine reached up and planted a fierce kiss on Erik's forehead and hugged him tightly. "I knew you were here!"

Erik's arms wound around her waist and held her close. Christine found herself trying to bury deeper into him for warmth; she was already shivering.

"Cold?" Erik said as she pulled away.

Christine nodded. "Let's go back inside."

"Why? I thought you didn't want to stay inside because of Madame Giry and the others," Erik reminded her as he untied his cape from his shoulders. "Here."

Christine instantly felt warm under Erik's thick cape. She held the cape tighter around her body, and she noticed Erik staring at her.

"What?" she blurted out. "Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head. "You're beautiful. I always knew you'd grow up to be beautiful, but not like _that_."

"Well, I didn't expect you to finally remove your sack mask and replace it with _that_," Christine countered. "You grew bigger and taller, too. Now I really feel like a dwarf."

Erik laughed. "I can always stoop down if you want." He paused. "It's good to see you again, Chrissy. It's been too long."

"I know, Erik. I know I promised to come back, but things happened. It'll take me all evening to tell you about it," Christine said, fighting back a yawn.

"You're sleepy," Erik accused. "Come on, we'd better get you back to bed."

"No, I'm fine," Christine argued. "Oh Erik, we've only met after 12 years, and all you can think about is me being sleepy. I thought you were better than that."

"I'm worried about you, that's all," Erik said defensively. "What if you collapse from exhaustion tomorrow?"

"Then you'd catch me, wouldn't you?" Christine teased, taking his gloved hand and leading him to the sheltered alcove. "You always do."

Erik smiled. Christine couldn't believe she could finally see his face: his strong jawline, his warm, friendly eyes, his black hair that was slicked back, and his prominent nose. He was handsome – well, the part that she could see, anyway.

"I can't believe I'm seeing your face for the first time," Christine said as she reached over and touched the exposed part of his face. "You don't look so bad yourself, Erik."

"What do you mean?" Erik waited for her to sit down on one of the stone benches before sitting down beside her.

"Oh please, Erik. You're handsome!" Christine pinched his cheek and laughed. "Why do you have to have a mask on, Erik? I thought you promised me that you'd let me see under your mask when I was older. I'm 18 years old, Erik. Aren't I old enough?"

"Patience, Chrissy. You haven't changed a bit," Erik observed. "Speaking of which, why are you wearing that rather revealing dress? I thought ladies in England wore dresses with bodices and full skirts."

Christine blushed. "I was getting ready for bed when I saw your gift. I didn't have time to change, much less run after you!"

"I thought you were getting ready for Eugene's party, so I didn't imagine leading you through the hallways half-naked," Erik apologized. His gaze rested briefly on Christine's neck, and when he saw a familiar leather strap, he smiled. "You're still wearing the medallion."

"Oh." Christine's hand flew up to her medallion. Erik's cape fell down a little as she pulled the medallion out, giving Erik a glimpse of the fullness of her breasts. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and focused his gaze on Christine's face.

"Did you even take it off?" he inquired.

She shook her head. "I promised myself I wouldn't."

Erik was touched. The thought of her keeping something he had given to her 12 years ago made him speechless, and he sat in silence for a few moments.

"Did I say something wrong, Erik?" Christine asked him after a while. She placed one hand on his knee and he felt a jolt of electricity run up his leg. Christine must have felt it too, because she withdrew her hand suddenly. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," he assured her. "Do you want to do something?"

She shrugged, and the cape fell further down her shoulders, showing her bare arms. Erik couldn't stand it; he reached over and pulled the cape over her shoulders. "Then why don't you let me bring you back to your room?"

Christine frowned. "Why are you so eager to make me go to sleep, Erik? You're usually the one urging me not to."

"Things change. I'll be here when you wake up, Chrissy, so you don't have to worry about me leaving you," Erik said, taking her hand. Christine's hands felt smooth (he could imagine their smoothness despite his gloves), and he saw that his rather large hands easily covered it.

"Fine, but if you're not here tomorrow, I'll have Madame Giry search the opera house," she threatened.

Erik laughed. "I'd like to see her try. She never found me, not even with Meg harping on about an opera ghost."

"You? An opera ghost? Why would she say that?" Christine asked as they made their way back to the door.

He shrugged and opened the door for her. "Maybe because nobody believed her when she told them I was human. She loves sensationalizing things."

"Somehow I'm not surprised to learn that," Christine admitted. The opera house was warmer, and Christine took off Erik's cape and handed it to him. She failed to notice Erik's sharp intake of breath or the way his eyes grazed up and down the entire length of her body. "Erik?"

Erik fought to keep his voice steady. The sight of Christine's nearly bare body was sending him reeling, but not entirely because of lust.

It was plainly due to the fact that he hadn't seen a naked woman his whole life.

"Erik?" Christine turned towards him, and he saw how the medallion rested on her cleavage. "Erik, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he replied quickly, and continued following Christine back to her room.

Erik had planned to tell her about a series of torments he had placed on Meg over the years. It involved him dropping large, hairy rats on her head (the ones found deep in the sewers that were covered in green, slimy muck and God knows what else) while she strutted around the opera house when she was 12, eventually scaring off a Hungarian prince who was visiting at the time. Another time Erik replaced salt in Meg's sugar bowl, causing her to retch due to the copious amounts of "sugar" she had dumped in her afternoon coffee.

Erik also hid Meg's favorite bracelet under her bed after she had ratted on him for the umpteenth time, calling him a nasty little sewer rat. She finally learned to leave him alone, and he hardly saw her for the last five years. However, he knew she was still on the lookout for him, so he never went out of his lair unless it was absolutely necessary.

The story was scrapped from his mind once he saw Christine, and as they made their way down the hallways, Erik found it an inappropriate time to discuss Meg. Once they reached the door to her room, Christine faced him again and gave him a tight hug.

"Promise me I'll see you again tomorrow," she told him.

"I promise to see you again tomorrow, Chrissy," he said, smiling at her.

Christine gave him another kiss, this time on his right cheek, which sent another series of electric currents through his body. Christine frowned a little, before smiling warmly up at him and squeezing his hand gently.

"Good night, Erik."

"Good night, Chrissy. Pleasant dreams."

Christine closed the door to her room, but Erik knew she wasn't about to shut him out of her life.

* * *

Christine couldn't believe it. There stood Erik, the childhood friend she loved and missed for 12 years. Seeing him again made Christine want to scream her happiness to the world, but of course she controlled herself.

Now she saw how he reacted when he first saw her in her nightgown, and she realized she didn't feel as uncomfortable as she was when it was Raoul looking at her. In fact, she felt a sort of thrill come over her as he subtly looked her up and down.

"Good night, Erik," she said, while opening the door to her room behind her.

"Good night, Chrissy, Pleasant dreams," he murmured.

Christine stepped inside and closed the door. She heard him shift his weight, the whoosh of his cape as he tied it around him again, and then the steady thud of his feet as he walked away. Even the very sound of his footsteps made her feel safe, and Christine smiled to herself.

For years she had been accompanied by Raoul, but it was only now when she met Erik again that she truly felt safe. She had been surrounded by many suitors, and it was only Erik who made her feel like a silly schoolgirl.

_Yes, I must have missed him more than I thought, _Christine told herself silently.

She untied her robe and allowed it to fall to the floor. It looked like a silky white puddle near the loveseat, and Christine climbed into bed.

The blankets were soft and smelled of mint, and Christine was easily lulled to sleep.

She dreamed of her mother, who looked exactly like her, except that her hair was streaked with grey.

"**Oh my darling," Charlotte Daae said, extending both of her arms out to hug her daughter.**

"**Mother?" Christine walked towards her and threw her arms around her mother's neck. "Mother, I've missed you!"**

"**And I you, my sweet Christine. So you've finally found your Erik," Charlotte whispered in Christine's ear.**

"_**My**_** Erik, Mother? He's my friend. You make him sound as if he's my –"**

"**Lover?" Charlotte interrupted, pulling away. "Oh my dear, things will happen soon that will test your loyalty and love. Always remember that your father and I will accept anything you decide. Also remember that nobody, nobody can tell you what to do. Follow your heart, Christine, and no one else will matter."**

"**Listen to your mother, princess," Gustav Daae said, coming up behind his wife. "You are a Daae, and nobody else has a purer lineage. Assert your right as the only remaining member of this great family, and no matter how many oppose you, you will still remain victorious."**

**Christine frowned. "Why are you telling me all of this, Father? Mother? Is something going to happen to Erik?"**

**Charlotte smiled and cupped her daughter's chin gently. "Just remember what we've told you, dear Christine. Remember who you are, and follow your heart."**

**Christine saw her parents standing side by side: her father, a tall man who had commanded respect and obedience from anyone by merely a glance, but who was easily dissuaded by his little girl. Her mother, on the other hand, was a slim, proper woman whose beauty had earned her many admirers even when she was married. **

**Together they made a rather striking pair, just like her and –**

"Erik," Christine said softly. As his name left her lips, her eyes opened.

Most people had described her and Raoul as a striking pair, but why was Erik the first person she thought of?

_Do I love him?_ Christine wondered silently. _Impossible. He's my close friend, that's all._

But as Christine lay in bed, doubt filled her mind. Erik had helped her repair her relationship with her father, taught her amusing games like hide and seek, fishing in the small pond behind the opera house, and creating paper flowers.

And now, seeing him for the first time in many, many years brought an unspeakable joy that Christine felt to her very bones.

If there was ever a man Christine could fall in love with, that would be Erik.

Possibly. Probably. Most likely.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey all! I've posted a fanmade trailer for Erik on my YouTube account: fanficfan007. It's from his POV, so I hope all of those who are on Team Erik would love it. :D You can also search for "Erik Fan Trailer" on YouTube. :) **

**Thanks for following this fan fiction series, and updates will be coming soon! :D **


	7. Chapter 7: Jealousy, Thy Name is Raoul

**Chapter Seven: Jealousy, Thy Name is Raoul**

Raoul took the stairs two at a time, his heart light and happy. After a brief stint at Eugene Colbert's party, Raoul had excused himself and claimed that he needed to check on Christine every so often, due to her exhaustion.

Eugene pretended to be hurt, but had then gaily given him permission to return to the opera house. Raoul knew that Eugene had been one of Christine's avid suitors when they were younger, but when Eugene fell in love with Lucilla Eccleston, another of Christine's old friends, he had retracted his pursuit and married Lucilla.

Raoul couldn't believe that jolly Eugene had decided to spend the rest of his life with silent, withdrawn Lucilla, who had given birth to their first child, Trevor, and was now pregnant with their second.

_How time flies,_ Raoul thought. _Perhaps in a year or so, Christine would be pregnant with _my_ child._

It was such a happy thought, and one that caused Raoul to practically fly down the hallway that led to his and Christine's rooms.

Before he even turned the corner, he heard Christine and another man talking. Shock raced through Raoul's body, and he skidded to a stop.

"Promise me I'll see you again tomorrow," Christine said.

"I promise to see you again tomorrow, Chrissy," the man replied. The two were silent for a moment, and Raoul fed his curiosity by peeking around the corner. All he saw was a tall man standing in front of Christine's room, and Christine kissing him on the cheek.

Rage filled Raoul, and he instinctively reached for his sword. A split second later he thought against it. It would be ungentlemanly of him to attack an unarmed man, and one who Christine seems to hold much affection for.

_Perhaps I should try and figure out who he is,_ Raoul decided. _Then we'll see who Christine kisses next time._

Raoul balled his hands into fists and stalked off. He didn't feel like sleeping tonight; perhaps the cook could give him a generous helping of champagne. Raoul sorely hoped they had one of the good years – he really needed a pick-me-up tonight.

Then he remembered.

Only he, Christine, Madame Giry, Monsieur Andre, Monsieur Firmin, Meg, and Carlotta were here – the other performers and workers had all gone home. With a silent curse, Raoul marched back towards his room.

There were no sounds coming from Christine's room, which meant that she was probably fast asleep.

_Her male companion must have tired her out,_ he thought nastily. The next second he chastised himself for thinking that Christine was like other women.

He sighed. He definitely needed some sleep, and thinking about that kiss – Raoul practically retched when he thought about it – was making things worse. Before he could open the door to his room, however, Raoul spotted movement coming from the hallway.

Meg.

"Hello, Raoul," she said coyly. It was obvious even under the dim light what she was wearing: a black nightgown with a slit that reached all the way up her thigh, while the neckline was dangerously low. The kind a woman would wear to seduce the man of her dreams. "Rough night?"

Raoul nodded and forced a smile. "Good night, Mademoiselle Giry."

"Wait," Meg called, walking up to him and placing a hand on his arm. "Since when did you call me Mademoiselle? And why won't you look at me, Raoul? Is there something you don't like?"

"No, it's just… I'm tired, Meg. I need some sleep." Raoul turned the doorknob, but Meg held him firmly.

"Oh, you poor baby. I can't imagine why Christine would leave you to party alone. Now if you'd have asked me, you would have received an entirely different answer," she said, giggling girlishly.

"I'll keep that in mind next time," Raoul said, finally wrenching the door open and stepping inside. "Good night."

And he slammed the door in her shocked and angry face.

* * *

Breakfast at the opera house was a quiet affair – at least in the beginning. The cook arrived early and prepared freshly baked bread, boiled eggs, and fruit.

Christine smiled at the rather meager choices laid before her on the table, while Carlotta stifled a yawn. Beside her Monsieur Andre was in a heated discussion with Monsieur Firmin on whether to increase the ticket prices or not.

"Have you seen Margerethe, cook?" Christine inquired as the woman approached her carrying a bowl of oatmeal. "Does she know I'm here?"

The cook smiled at Christine and handed her a rather dirty slip of paper. Christine opened it, and her mouth silently formed the words that were written on the paper. "Oh, I must see her at once!"

Monsieur Firmin cleared his throat and looked expectantly at Christine. "My lady?"

"Hmmm?" Christine tore her eyes away from the paper. "What is it, Monsieur Firmin?"

"When are we going to settle the… payment?" Monsieur Firmin asked hesitantly. Carlotta had gone perfectly still and was watching Christine.

"Well, perhaps when I see a full performance, I can decide how much patronage you truly need. I also believe that we need to find a new diva; after all, Madame Carlotta's time as the Opera Populaire's main singer is almost at an end," Christine said. She reached for a bread slice and dipped it in her oatmeal.

Carlotta sputtered. "Replace me? How absurd! I am the best there ees!"

"Yes, I do believe so," Christine replied kindly, but Raoul knew that she was lying through her teeth. "But it has been customary for the Opera Populaire to feature a new diva every year. I wish to uphold that tradition."

"Reedeeculous! I am Carlotta Blanchard! The publeec loves me! They would not stand for thees!" Carlotta stood up suddenly that her chair fell to the floor with a bang. "Just because you are some neely weely duchess from England does not geeve you the right! You leetle sneevelleeng brat!"

"Now wait one minute!" Raoul exclaimed. "Don't you dare speak to her like that, Madame Blanchard!"

"Why not? Eet ees true!" Carlotta snapped.

"Madame Carlotta," Christine said levelly, motioning for Raoul to calm down, "I'm sure your talents will be put to good use elsewhere. The Opera Populaire, as its name suggests, gives aspiring opera singers to gain popularity and give them the boost they need to be recognized all over the world. This isn't a question of my authority or not. Even the local magistrate would agree to this, if you wish to take this to a higher court."

Carlotta paled. She glared fiercely at Christine who never wavered or flinched, her face perfectly emotionless. Her meeting with Erik brought her new confidence, and she knew that he was close by. That thought alone made her at ease and ready to take on Carlotta or anyone else who would dare question her actions.

"I do not beleeeve thees!" Carlotta cried, looking at the two owners of the opera house. "Andre! Feermeen! Are you going to let her do thees to me?"

The two men sat still and said nothing.

With a frustrated cry, Carlotta swept out of the kitchen. Only when the door banged shut behind her did the other people in the room heave a sigh of relief.

"Christine? Are you alright?" Raoul asked, placing one hand on Christine's shoulder.

She turned towards him and smiled. "I'm perfectly fine, Raoul. You worry too much."

The rest of breakfast was spent in silence. Raoul sensed that Christine was thinking hard, and he finished his eggs quickly. He longed to have coffee and biscotti, and he wondered if Christine would come with him to one of the cafes nearby. Perhaps then he would be able to tell her how he felt.

As they left the mess hall they were met with the rest of the performers who were arriving. Apparently news of Carlotta's little outburst had reached them by way of the cook, and they were all chatting amicably about it. When they saw Christine, they rushed towards her with huge smiles on their faces.

"Is it true, my lady? Will there be a new singer here soon?"

"You showed Carlotta, my lady! Finally someone put her in her place!"

"When will tryouts be?"

"Are we all required to be there?"

Christine laughed and answered each of their questions. Raoul marveled at how patient she was with them, even though they had suddenly rushed upon her like bulls. He couldn't help but think what an excellent wife she would make, and he felt a dull ache in his gut.

He knew that she already had a lover – the man she had spent the night with. Another man had claimed her as his own, and another man had taken her precious maidenhood.

_No wonder she couldn't see my little gestures for her,_ he thought miserably. _I have been showing you how much you mean to me, Christine, and you've pledged your heart, body, and soul to another._

As he watched her engage in a lively conversation with the rest of the performers, he felt his hands shake. He had to get out of there before he exploded, and he certainly didn't want Christine to see his temper.

"Christine?" he called, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to check on the horses."

Christine turned and nodded. "Certainly, dear Raoul. I may not be able to come with you on any adventures today, however. I need to attend to the preparations for the tryouts."

"I see. Well, I wish you the best of luck." Raoul bent over and kissed Christine briefly on the cheek. He heard a few girls giggle as he did so.

"Be careful." Christine watched him go before resuming her talk with the performers.

Raoul strode quickly towards the stables that were located at the back of the opera house. The snowy white horse that Christine had brought from Wiltshire whinnied as he approached, and his own brown horse bowed its head.

Raoul leaped over the wooden fence and patted his horse's rump. The animal neighed and stomped its front foot on the floor.

"You have no idea," he murmured, giving the horse a few sugar cubes from the bag hanging on the wall. "I keep trying to tell her, but she's always out of reach. Now there's that man who's taken her. I swear, if I learn that he's touched her…"

Raoul's voice trailed away. He had imagined himself to be the one to claim the sweet territory between Christine's thighs, but it appears he had been thwarted. He, the son of Armand de Chagny, was bested by an unknown rival.

He wouldn't stand for it. Raoul punched the concrete wall, ignoring the slight cracking sounds and the shooting pain that came from his fist.

After all, what were a few broken fingers if his heart was already being smashed to pieces?

* * *

Christine yawned and set the last document down on the table. She was tired, tired of all the endless transactions, bargaining, pleading, and other tactics Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin had used on her as they spent the entire day deciding how much money she would bestow on the opera house yearly.

The complaints of the performers rang through her mind as she listened to their excuses, their reasons for wanting a higher contribution, and why she should keep Carlotta in the opera house. The first issue was fine, but she had simply refused to listen to the second.

"With all due respect to Carlotta and her talent, I wish to explore the other talents that are hidden behind the doors of the other houses in Paris," she had reminded them again and again. "Carlotta has proved her worth, now it is time for her to step down and give chances to others. It is tradition, and my family strictly abides by traditions."

In the end, they settled on a contribution of 50,000 francs per month, with the agreement that if the opera needed extra money, they would send word through Madame Giry. Christine felt something was not right in entrusting the monthly contribution to Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin, so she secretly pulled Madame Giry aside during rehearsal and told the older woman of her plan.

"But my lady, are you certain?" Madame Giry asked as the ballerinas twirled and leaped through the stage. Carlotta was on the other side, so she couldn't hear their hushed conversation.

"I am certain. Father trusted you, and so do I. I know you will do good with the money if you controlled the expenses and spending. Please, Madame Giry. Say not a word about this until the first contribution comes. I will make sure the papers will be beyond reproach," Christine assured her.

Madame Giry agreed, but she was surprised when Christine promised to send her her own salary. At this, the older woman couldn't help but shed a few tears.

"Oh Madame Giry, I did not wish to make you cry!" Christine forgot herself for a moment and hugged the older woman. "Please, I know how hard these past few years have been for you and Meg, and I wish to make up for it."

"Like the doll," Madame Giry reminded Christine as they pulled away.

Christine laughed. "Oh yes, I remember. Does she still have it?"

"She does. You have no idea how much it meant to her," Madame Giry said.

"So she does not know who it really came from?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "Perhaps if we told her…"

"No, Madame Giry. A simple doll won't erase her anger towards me. I need it to come from her, if it will ever come."

Madame Giry was in awe at the generosity and kindness Christine showed, and she wished with all her heart that the girl would find nothing but happiness. She deserved it.

Christine had excused herself then and proceeded to her room, where she spent the rest of the day reviewing the documents. She only left the room to have a quick supper before returning.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the armchair. Suddenly, two very strong hands slid down her neck, while the thumbs began rubbing the skin behind her ears.

"You work too much, Chrissy," Erik said, massaging her neck slowly.

"I know, Erik. It's the downside of being a duchess." Christine leaned her head against Erik's hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"As always," Erik chuckled. "Why are you always so glad to see me?"

"I don't know," Christine admitted, her voice soft, almost like a purr. "You make me happy, that's all."

Warm shivers of delight ran up and down Erik's body, and he smiled. Christine was able to catch his expression in the vanity mirror opposite them as she briefly opened one eye. She laughed. "My response pleases you?"

"It does. Perhaps this means we find happiness in each other then." Erik continued massaging Christine's neck while she gave a contented sigh and rested her head on his arm. "Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I heard something Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin were discussing before you arrived in the opera house. I think you must know."

Christine remained silent, but she reached up and squeezed Erik's hand to tell him that she was listening.

"They plan on running away with the money as soon as you hand it over to them," Erik continued. "I do not think you should trust them."

"I expected that. I have made Madame Giry the executor of the opera's monthly contributions. The money is entrusted to her care, and only she can handle it," Christine told him. "I didn't feel like I could trust the two monsieurs, especially after I heard news that Carlotta was having an affair with one of them."

"_Both_ of them," Erik corrected. "She has been playing both sides."

Christine opened her eyes and pouted. For a moment Erik saw the six year old Christine he knew so well, and he smiled. Christine stood up slowly and Erik dropped his hands to his sides.

"I can't believe how vile she is," Christine said angrily, pacing the room briskly. "She uses the money that other people need for her own purposes, and she continually cuckolds two men! How can she even sleep at night?"

"With a naked man beside her?" Erik suggested, smiling mischievously.

Christine smiled despite of her anger. "I can't wait until Madame Giry is done with the tryouts. They'll be starting in a few days, and perhaps Carlotta will be gone by then."

"You seemed to hold well against her," Erik pointed out, referring to the incident that morning.

"You were there?" Christine asked, walking towards him. "I knew it. I could sense your presence."

"I promised you I would always be there, didn't I, Chrissy?" Erik reached out to touch her cheek but thought better of it.

Christine felt disappointed. As much as she dared to admit it, she had wanted to feel his hands on her again. The way he massaged her earlier felt so good that she continuously kept biting back soft moans of pleasure.

_I mustn't think like this about him,_ Christine told herself sternly. _I am a lady, nay, I am a duchess. Besides, he only thinks of me as a friend_.

Christine hid her disappointment by turning away from him. "Have you supped?"

"Yes. I saw the meal you left for me in the kitchen," Erik said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

_Say something_, Christine urged. _Anything to hear you speak again_.

"Someone's coming," Erik told her suddenly, and she heard the swish of his cape.

"Wait –" Christine called, whipping around to face him.

He was gone.

Christine sighed, but her attention was immediately diverted to the door, which was slowly opening. "Who is it?"

"Christine." Raoul's head poked out from behind the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course." Christine began fixing the papers on the table. "What brings you here?"

Raoul looked as if it was a silly question to ask. "To check on you, of course."

Christine sighed. "Well, I am perfectly fine, Raoul. Is there anything else?"

"Are you sure? You sound a bit… testy."

"I'm tired, that's all. I need some sleep," Christine said, heading towards the clothes cabinet. "I'm sorry if I snapped at you, Raoul, I just don't feel up to any more tonight."

"I understand. Rest now, dear Christine." Raoul walked towards her and kissed her on the forehead. His lips lingered on her skin a little longer than normal, but in the end he pulled away.

"Good night," Christine replied.

Raoul nodded once before leaving the room. She heard the door to his room open and close shut, and she began undressing. Soon she was out of her clothes and in a soft nightdress. The bed looked inviting, and she soon slipped under the covers and was fast asleep.

* * *

_I'll kill him!_ Raoul raged inwardly as he stomped down the steps of the opera house. He had faked going into his room by opening and closing the door, but he had quietly slipped away. His feet immediately carried him to a nearby bar, where he quickly ordered a few rounds of wine.

He wanted to drink. He wanted to get so drunk that the thoughts of another man touching Christine would slip away from his mind. At first he wanted to grab some whore and satisfy himself within her, but he thought against it.

No one, except Christine, could satisfy him. And it appears that she was satisfying the desires of another man. He finished a glass, slammed it on the table, and proceeded to finish another.

_Whoever you are, I'll find you. Christine is mine, you bastard. Mine and no one else's. I'll find you, and in the name of the entire de Chagny clan, I will destroy you. _


	8. Chapter 8: An Invitation

**Chapter Eight: An Invitation**

The tryouts were over. After three days of performances and auditions, Madame Giry was pleased to inform Christine and the rest of Paris of a surprising and pleasing discovery. A little 8 year old girl possessed an angelic voice that encompassed the rest of the singers who had arrived in the opera.

She was Soleil de Maupassant, the daughter of a rather prominent merchant in Paris. Her proud parents, Sinclair and Jolie de Maupassant, had burst into raucous applause and cheers when Madame Giry gave the news to the rather large congregation.

Other aspiring singers congratulated the tiny diva, who had large green eyes, full cheeks, and fiery red hair. Others, like Carlotta, chose to hiss behind their fans and wish the little singer ill during her first performance.

Christine had congratulated the little girl whole-heartedly, who seemed taken aback by all the attention that he people of Paris were bestowing upon her. Soon a series of rehearsals were scheduled for the remaining weeks, where Soleil would be introduced to the life of an opera singer.

Christine fretted about this, since she believed that Soleil might not handle all the expectations placed on her. The little girl surprised everyone again by mastering all the songs and delivering an impressive performance on her very first night.

There was one downside to Soleil's success: the public seemed to have fallen in love with Carlotta Blanchard, and they petitioned to keep her in the chorus. So Christine wasn't fully rid of the repulsive woman, who continued strutting around the opera house as if she was queen.

By the end of November, Madame Giry started preparations for another major event: the Masque. Christine and Raoul were the two distinguished guests, and most people expected that they would bring escorts who were of equal stature as they.

Christine, however, had other plans.

Raoul seemed to believe that he was automatically Christine's escort and said nothing about the matter. His behavior was as gentlemanly as ever, but Christine noticed a hint of aggressiveness about him. He always insisted to accompany her in all her endeavors, which she found a little irritating.

Her only sanctuary was her room; where she absolutely forbade anyone save for Madame Giry and Erik to enter, the latter having to do so in secret. Raoul appeared to have the upper hand however, since he was stuck to Christine like bees to honey during the day.

Prior to their visit in the opera house, Christine wouldn't have minded. Now that he was completely preventing Erik from approaching her, she was getting annoyed.

"Raoul, must you hound me day and night?" she had hissed one night as he knocked on her door. "I am perfectly fine, thank you. Now please, give me some peace!"

She had forgotten herself at that moment, but she didn't care. He deserved it; after all, he was getting to be quite persistent. Erik visited her in her room every night, where they were reduced to talking in whispers. At times Erik left after only a few minutes despite her pleas that he should stay, but he countered her by saying that she needed rest.

Now, Christine had had enough of hiding her friendship with Erik from the world. The Masque was the perfect opportunity to introduce him to everyone, most especially Raoul.

_He treats me like I'm his personal property_, she thought angrily one afternoon as he literally paraded her in front of his Parisian friends. The moment they arrived in the opera house she had excused herself and locked herself in the room.

Unfortunately, Christine knew that the de Chagny family was not known for giving up easily.

The morning after the incident, Raoul personally fetched her from her room and stood by her the entire day. She had to keep her annoyance in check to prevent her from slapping him across the face, and once or twice she had even considered kneeing him in the groin.

A few nights before receiving news of the Masque, Christine had voiced her complaints to Erik, who had remained as still as a statue in her favorite armchair.

"Erik, he is getting to be as bad as Carlotta!" she had complained one evening. Raoul was out, so Christine felt safe that she could grumble and gripe as loudly as she dared.

"In what way? He takes the monsieurs to bed and cuckolds them?" Erik asked, his voice steady. "I always knew there was something shifty about him. Why did you even befriend him, Chrissy?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "He wasn't like this when we were younger. It was only after we arrived in the opera house when he changed. I didn't expect to see this side of him." Christine sat on the armchair opposite Erik. "He was always the perfect gentleman."

"The more perfect they seem to be, the more wary you must be of them," Erik told her. "It's those seemingly perfect ones that have the most to hide. I for one am not ashamed to show my temper, especially if it concerns Meg Giry, you know that."

Christine giggled. "Oh yes. You were simply awful when you threw the contents of the sewing box in her face."

"True, but she was being awful as well. I only reciprocated her behavior," Erik replied defensively.

"Oh Erik, what am I to do about Raoul? He never leaves my side anymore. He is driving me insane."

"What did you do about it before you came here? It seems like both of you changed when you arrived in the opera house. Perhaps you're the one who's changed, Chrissy. The way you've been describing him for the past half hour, he hasn't changed one bit." Erik looked at her. "Is it because you've met me again?"

Christine wanted to say _yes, yes, I think I've changed because of you_, but she didn't. Instead, she shrugged. "Perhaps. I'm glad I got to see him for what he really was: an obsessive gentleman."

Erik extended his leg so that his shoe bumped against hers. "Better late than never, I always say."

"You never fail to amuse me, Erik." Christine rested her shoe on top of his and laughed softly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Their meetings were like that nowadays: mostly talking and making fun of each other. They hardly explored the opera house anymore, because Christine was usually exhausted by the end of the day.

One meeting that differed was when Christine ended up falling asleep in Erik's arms. She had gone straight to bed after an especially long day and forgot that Erik was coming. Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, she felt someone big and bulky sit on the bed beside her.

"Good night, sweet Christine," Erik murmured, kissing her on the forehead. He made a move to leave, but Christine reached over and grabbed his leg.

"No… don't go, Erik," she pleaded sleepily. "Please, stay with me."

Erik didn't say anything; she heard him quietly take his shoes off and ease himself into her bed. She even moved a little to make room for him. He lay on his side and she snuggled closer to him, grateful for the extra warmth.

The once scorching days had given way to winter, and the opera house felt chilly even during the day. At night the chill became a lot worse, so Christine began using extra layers of blankets whenever she slept.

Now, she had someone beside her, a man who was nearly twice her size and had thick, strong arms. These arms had wrapped themselves around her, and she could feel one of them crushing against her breasts.

This was supposed to make her feel awkward – after all, she had never lain with a man before this – but in a way it felt… natural. Like she had been sleeping with Erik her entire life.

"Rest now," he had whispered in her ear, and she felt him cover her with his cape. That night Christine had the soundest sleep she ever had in the opera house.

When she awoke the next day she could hear people bustling about and talking in loud voices. Christine tried to get up, but Erik's heavy arm was draped across her waist, pinning her to the bed.

"Erik," she mumbled softly. "Wake up."

A soft snore greeted her. Christine turned her head and saw Erik, half of his face buried in the soft white pillow, his mouth slightly open and his hair a little rumpled. She giggled. How she wished to see him like that every morning.

Christine reached over and pinched his cheek gently, but still he didn't wake up. He muttered something incoherent, which told Christine that he was probably dreaming. She sighed and lay back down on the bed.

"It appears someone is holding me hostage," she muttered softly. "Wake _up_, Erik."

"Christine?" The doorknob rattled, and to her horror she recognized Raoul's voice come from behind the door.

Christine knew Erik couldn't be seen, so with all the energy she could muster, she pushed Erik off the bed. Whatever he was dreaming about ended abruptly as he landed with a dull thud on the floor.

"Wha-?" Erik sputtered, rising to his feet.

Christine brought a finger to her lips and motioned frantically towards the door.

"Christine!" Raoul called urgently, shaking the door with more ferocity. "Are you ill? Christine, answer me!"

Erik frowned and looked at Christine. His expression softened as he looked at her: slightly tousled hair, the lower part of her nightgown covered by his cape, and her still sleepy expression. "I'd better go," he whispered, kissing her on the cheek. "I need my cape back, though."

Christine nodded and as he leaned towards her to pick up his cape, she kissed him on the cheek. "Later."

Erik froze but quickly recovered. "As you wish."

"Thank you, Madame Giry," they heard Raoul say amidst the clinking of keys. "It appears Christine is deep asleep."

Erik quickly gathered his shoes and cape. "Close your eyes."

Christine obeyed, and when she opened them a few seconds later, Erik was gone.

"Christine!" Raoul cried as he entered. He stopped when he saw her, the bed in disarray and she sitting near the edge of the bed as if she was about to stand up. "Pardon me."

"Must you break into my room?" she demanded angrily, wrapping a long robe around her. "Raoul, this constant checking up on me is irritating! Leave!"

Raoul stopped. "What?"

"I said get out of my room, Raoul!"

"Very well," Raoul said, and Christine could see he was fighting to maintain his composure. "I'll leave you to it, then."

He flounced out of the room. Madame Giry remained behind, her eyes searching Christine's face. "Is something wrong, my lady?"

"No, Madame Giry. Everything is fine." Christine had lost track of how many times she'd been saying that phrase for the past few weeks that it felt like an automatic response. She was tired of everything.

Tired of the silly, vain society that expected her to be a snotty duchess and marry Raoul.

Tired of Raoul.

Tired of everyone.

Only Erik saw her for who she was: a girl who longed to let loose and have fun. Only Erik understood her need to be free, to shake away the very chains society had placed on her the moment she was born.

She wanted to run outside and shout to the world what kind of girl she wanted to be.

And yet years of being bred as a duchess prevented her from doing so. Society would always have her in its grasp, and they would be ready to chastise her for every menial mistake she would make.

Now the time came for Christine to show society what it means to be a Daae. She was going to invite Erik to the Masque as her escort and not Raoul.

Those who opposed her could go to hell.

And so she canceled all appointments for the day and searched the opera house for Erik. Raoul seemed to have taken her little outburst to heart, because he began making arrangements that took him outside of the opera house.

Christine didn't care; he kept on dogging her footsteps for the past few days that she felt relieved to be rid of him.

Finding Erik in the opera house was no mean feat; he certainly knew the twists and turns of the place that Christine spent about an hour looking for him. Her search was hastened due to her uncanny perception of his presence. Each room she passed didn't carry his aura and Christine grew more worried as she searched the rooms at the back of the opera house. Christine couldn't explain this feeling, even now. All she knew was that she could tell if he was near her or not.

She found him in the chapel where they had hid from her father and nanny. Her heart had quickened as she approached the chapel, and she knew he was inside.

This was also where Christine told him that she knew she would probably marry some rich boy who would make her family even more powerful and influential.

Erik had scowled then – he told her that nobody should marry because of money and power.

Christine didn't understand him much back then, but now his words rang true. Now all Christine wanted was to find a man who would love her even if she suddenly lost her fortune the next day. Out of all the men she had met her entire life, there was only one man who was like that.

Erik.

Apparently he didn't know she was there, which gave her the perfect opportunity to study him and drink in his appearance. Although half of his face was covered by a smooth, white mask, the other half showed a man who was very, very attractive.

His entire body made Christine think of those bodybuilders she saw in circuses and other traveling fairs, and she couldn't help but wonder if he came from the circus.

Nonsense. Erik was rather scrawny as a boy, so perhaps he found some other means to improve his physique.

Christine took one step towards him, and as she did so, the floorboard creaked under her foot.

"Christine!" Erik whipped around in surprise. "I didn't know you were there."

She smiled. "I guess you can't sense me as I can sense you."

"It would appear so," Erik said, walking towards her. "Why are you here? Looking for me?"

"Yes. I need to ask you something, Erik."

"Anything."

Before she could open her mouth again, however, Erik grabbed her hand. "Wait, let's have this conversation in a more private venue."

He pulled her towards the altar where he pressed a button hidden behind the silk curtain. A stone door suddenly swung open and Erik led Christine inside.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as they plowed on. The passageway was lit by torches and they had no trouble seeing.

"Someplace special to me," Erik replied. Although he spoke softly, his voice echoed throughout the passageway. "Now please. Be silent."

Christine bit her lip to prevent her from saying anything else. She couldn't stand the silence any longer, and she said the first thing that came to mind: "Erik, I think Raoul knows about you. I told him about you on the way here and even asked him to help me find you."

"He doesn't."

"Why are you always so sure about yourself?" Christine demanded.

"Because I know that he hired some investigator to find me. Since Meg doesn't know my real name, I daresay she wasn't much use. He has come to the conclusion that the Erik you knew was a drifter, and that I have left the opera house." Erik looked back at her briefly and smiled at the surprise on her face.

"How did you know all this?"

"There are advantages to knowing all the secret passages in the opera house. I learn a lot of things that way. Raoul thinks of your childhood friend as a ghost of the past. Didn't you ever wonder why he didn't mention my name to you after you arrived?"

"He wanted me to forget about you," Christine finished. "I don't believe it."

"You've seen his real colors, Christine. Does that even surprise you?"

They had stopped in the middle of the passageway. A slight breeze wafted from an opening somewhere above them, causing the fire on the torches to sway a little. Even in the firelight, Erik thought Christine was breathtakingly beautiful.

He saw how their fingers were intertwined and he didn't want to let go of her smooth, soft hand.

"No," she finally said after some time. "But why would he do such a thing?"

"He loves you. Apparently you talked so highly of me he thought I was your lover," Erik said, trying to sound as if it didn't please him.

"Raoul loves me?" The more Christine thought about it, the more it made sense. He was one of her past suitors, after all. It was possible that he still carried a torch for her. Plus there were those small gestures: buying chocolates for her, leaving small tokens of affection, and the way he clung to her whenever they danced. "How could I have been so blind?"

"You weren't blind, Christine. You thought of him as a friend that your mind refused to accept anything that told you otherwise," Erik said wisely. "Now come on."

As they delved deeper into the opera house Christine looked back on the years she spent with Raoul. He was attentive, true, but he also seemed rather possessive. She could hardly talk to other men without him breathing down her back, and he always placed a possessive arm on her waist when more than one man approached her.

They were friends, but they weren't lovers.

Christine looked at the back of Erik's head. Every so often he turned back towards her to make sure she was alright, but his gaze never lasted for a few seconds.

Raoul, on the other hand, put all his focus on her and stared until she felt as if her face would melt.

_Oh why are you even comparing them like this?_ Christine wondered. _Are you even considering taking one of them as your husband?_


	9. Chapter 9: Descent to the Lair

**Chapter Nine: Descent to the Lair**

The passageway ended in a large underground landing, where Christine could see a black horse tethered to a rusty steel pole embedded in the concrete. Erik quietly led her towards the horse and helped her on.

Christine grasped the horse's reins tightly, but she loosened her grip slightly when she saw that Erik had a firm hold on it. She had half-expected him to jump on the horse beside her. A long, dark tunnel loomed before them.

"Erik, I don't like the dark," she said in a small voice. Images of ghosts and goblins grabbing her from the horse flashed in her mind and she shuddered.

"Hush, dear Christine. I am here, your personal guide. I'll never let anything happen to you," he said. His voice sounded so assuring that Christine nodded. With a quick but sharp tug, Erik urged the horse forward.

Christine could hear the trickle of water as they ventured into the tunnel. The noises they made were magnified two times, and every time Christine drew a sharp intake of breath, Erik looked at her. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, but soon enough Christine saw a bright ray of light.

Erik had led them to a small underground river at the end of the tunnel. A boat bobbed up and down lazily, and Christine could make out the sandy bottom despite the murky water. Erik held the boat steady using his foot and helped Christine onto it. When she was safely ensconced in one of the wooden planks that served as a seat, he stepped in.

"Aren't you going to tether your horse?" Christine asked him as Erik grabbed a long pole that was leaning against the wall.

"No. Thunder usually wanders the tunnels by himself. He knows the place well." Erik unsheathed a sharp sword and cut the ropes holding the boat to the wall. The boat remained still for a second, but Erik used the pole to push the boat forward.

The river was flanked by two concrete walkways that were decorated with gruesome gargoyle sculptures. They all looked so lifelike that Christine had to look away. A loud creaking noise made Christine look up, and she gasped with surprise at the sight that met her eyes.

Dozens of finely sculptured chandeliers were rising up from the water as they neared, and as soon as the candles surfaced, bright fires erupted from their tips. Beyond that was a small cave that was illuminated by a dozen more candles set in gold candelabras. The river ended at the base of a small concrete island.

This was Erik's lair.

Erik's strokes in the water were true, and he soon had them at one edge of the island. Erik got out of the boat first and used a coil of rope to tie the boat on a steel pole found near the water's edge.

"Come," he said, extending his arm out to her. Christine grasped Erik's hand tightly and made her way out of the boat. She miscalculated the distance between the boat and the island, however, and she tripped.

Erik caught her as she fell. His arms wrapped around her waist as Christine's head slammed against his chest, knocking the breath out of him.

"Oh! Erik, I'm sorry," Christine apologized as he helped her straighten herself up. She was grateful that she wasn't wearing those silly poufy gowns she wore during the past few days, but was in a simple satin dress. She suspected that was what made Erik decide to bring her here; he must have known she wouldn't have fit inside the passageway due to her huge skirt.

"No, its fine," he assured her, although he sounded a little winded.

"I hurt you," she said, placing one hand on his chest. His muscles felt taut and hard under her palm, even though he was wearing a coat and vest above his shirt. "Admit it!"

"Very well, you hurt me," he said, giving in. He wondered if Christine could feel his heartbeat; the moment she had placed her hand on his chest he felt his pulse quicken and a sudden ache in his nether regions.

She laughed but didn't remove her hand. "You give in way too easily."

"What can I say? You're the only one who can get away with almost anything when it comes to me," Erik said. _Please, remove your hand_, he prayed silently. Another minute of this close contact and he just knew he would burst.

Thankfully she did, and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

"So this is where you live," Christine declared, looking at the writing desk that took up most of the space. "Where is your bedroom?"

"Oh, uh, it's over there," Erik said, pointing to an alcove that overlooked the entrance. Christine immediately headed there, Erik hot on her heels.

A thick black veil covered the room and Christine pushed it aside. "Oh Erik."

In the center of the room stood a large bed with a headboard that was in the shape of a swan. Christine laughed and sat on the bed. The material was soft and she could feel the springs beneath her hands. She bounced on the mattress a bit, laughing as she did so.

"Did you make this yourself?" she asked Erik, who was standing uncomfortably near the veil.

"Yes. A few years ago." Erik rubbed the back of his neck and continued watching her.

"Where did you sleep before that?" Christine lay down on the bed, found a pillow, and hugged it. "The bed smells like you. It also feels like you, soft and quite pudgy."

"Pudgy?" Erik said in a mock insulted voice.

"Yes, pudgy," Christine said, sitting up and grinning at him. "Like a lumpy pillow that hasn't been fluffed enough."

Erik chuckled. "Why? Do you plan to fluff me up?"

"Maybe," Christine teased, and she suddenly ran towards him and began patting him all over.

Erik laughed and tried grabbing her hands, but she was too quick. "Alright, alright! You've fluffed me enough!"

"No I haven't," Christine said, and she began patting him all over, but this time harder. Soon she was thumping him on the back.

"I thought you were going to fluff me, so how come you're massaging me?" Erik said, finally grabbing a hold of her arms.

The grins on their faces subsided when they realized how close they were to one another. Erik could see Christine's eyelashes clearly and feel her breath on his face, while Christine again felt the hardness of his muscles.

"So, what else do you have here?" Christine inquired, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. She pulled away from his grasp, and Erik felt the air suddenly go stale without him breathing her intoxicating fragrance.

"Well, there's the bathroom, but that's about it," Erik said, following her out of the bedroom. Christine giggled when she saw the wooden tub he used to bathe himself. "What?"

"Do you sit down inside the tub and splash yourself while playing with boats?" Christine teased. She watched the water in the tub as it swirled around, and she couldn't help but imagine Erik standing in the center of the tub pouring water all over his body. Her breath caught in her chest.

_Stop it,_ she told herself.

"No, not really. I, uh, stand in the center of the tub –"

Images of Erik, his body slick and wet, flashed through Christine's mind.

Oh no.

"- and use this." Erik showed her a makeshift shower head that spewed cool water.

"Oh my. I guess you've been up to a lot when I was gone," Christine murmured, running her hands under the free flowing water. "Erik."

"Yes?"

Christine faced him and again was taken aback at their closeness. In a way, she liked it, and made no move to step away. Instead she looked up at him and smiled. "Nothing. It's just that something's been bothering me, but I'm not sure how to say it."

"Say it with words. That's the most effective method." Erik didn't want to move away from her as well, not when he could breathe in everything about her. He could see she was struggling to form the words and he flicked his finger under her chin. "Come on, Chrissy, just tell me."

"Why do you isolate yourself like this?" Christine whispered. "Erik, I didn't realize it until now, but you've been alone for 12 years! _Why_?"

Erik turned away. He could feel her sorrow, and the knowledge that there was someone in this world who was shedding tears for him and his fate stunned him.

He felt her hand slide down his arm and squeeze his wrist. Only when her scent filled his nostrils did he realize that she was hugging him and crying.

Erik bowed his head. "It's because of me. I – I'm not like other people, Chrissy."

"In what way? What makes you so different from other people that they shun you and cause you to lock yourself away from the world? If I had known, I would have come back sooner!" Christine sobbed, who had buried her face on his back. "You're not a bad person, Erik, so why should you even be ashamed?"

"It's not because I'm a bad person, Chrissy. I'm just different." Erik removed her hands and turned to face her. "They don't like the way I look. You're the only person who has made me feel human, Chrissy. If I lost you, I could very well walk off the face of the earth."

Christine looked at him. "You are not different, Erik. Everyone is different in their own way, so why should they treat you like an outcast?"

"They say I'm ugly."

"No you're not!" Christine stamped her foot. "The ones who call you ugly are lying! They don't see the Erik that I know. The Erik who allowed me to spend the best times of my life in the opera house. The Erik who helped me reconcile with my father. The Erik who has created beautiful things for himself and others, because he has a beautiful disposition. No, Erik, you aren't ugly."

She said this so passionately that Erik was thrown aback. Nobody had tried to tell him he wasn't ugly, nobody had even raised a hand to defend him. In fact, they had tried so hard to get rid of him, even lock him in a cold dark room and hoped he would starve to death.

And yet here was an angel, shedding tears and speaking to him words that were meant to make him feel better.

Yes, Christine's words did comfort him, but they also made him uneasy.

What if she learned what he really looked like? She was sure to gasp in horror and even back away from him. No, a person as beautiful and as pure as her would never love someone like him.

A monster.

_You promised yourself you would try_, he reminded himself silently.

"Chrissy…" he began, but she refused to hear any of it. She stomped out of the makeshift bathroom and looked out onto the river.

"You never answered my question, Erik," she whispered as he approached. "Where did you sleep before you made the bed?"

Erik didn't reply.

"Answer me!"

"On the floor."

"Oh God," Christine moaned, burying her face in her hands. "Forgive me."

She looked so frail and so vulnerable that Erik couldn't stand seeing her like that. He held her in his arms and allowed her to release all the emotions. She clung to him tightly and he could feel her entire body shaking.

"Forgive me, Erik. I should have returned sooner. All those years… I can't even imagine how horrible and lonely life must have been. Forgive me," she said between sobs.

"Hush. You're here now, and that's what matters." Erik smoothed her hair and closed his eyes. "You of all people shouldn't apologize. You're the only person who accepted me for who I am, the only one who kept me going. I'd do anything for you, Chrissy."

"I know. I'd do anything for you too, Erik." Christine was no longer sobbing; she had laid her head on his chest.

They stood there holding each other, Erik rocking her back and forth as if he was calming a child. Christine still clung to him, looking blankly at the rest of his makeshift house.

Finally she raised her head. "Erik?"

He looked at her.

"Is the tour over?"

"Not unless you want to go back to the opera house," Erik said.

"And back to Raoul. No, I think I'll stay here a little longer." Christine pulled away from their embrace but she still held his hand. She pulled him towards his desk, where she noticed for the first time a small diorama of the stage. On it were a few dolls placed in certain positions. "What is this?"

"A diorama. I made it when I wasn't satisfied with the performances they were doing, so I made a few improvements," Erik replied, standing beside her. "Those dolls represent the performers. I did try making a doll for Carlotta, but somehow the eyes didn't come out right."

"Too fierce?"

"No. They always came out looking like your eyes." Erik glanced at her and saw that she was blushing.

"What performance is this?" she asked, picking up a doll that looked like Madame Giry.

"Il Muto. Carlotta played a duchess, but she wasn't as good as you," Erik replied. "She kept doing those exaggerated movements."

"Oh. So you think I play a duchess?" Christine smiled. "If I'm not a truly a duchess and only playing one, then what am I?"

"You are Christine," he said simply, squeezing her hand. "Christine Juliet Daae, a girl who wants to be free, have fun, and laugh."

"You know me too well, Erik. Sometimes I think you know me more than I know myself."

Erik wondered if he should tell her. Should he show her what lay behind his mask? He wanted her to see, but at the same time he was terrified. What if she hated what she saw? He would lose her forever, and then he would be truly alone.

As he looked at her, he knew that he couldn't keep lying to her or keep secrets from her any longer.

She had been honest to him from the very beginning, and he was still keeping his true appearance from her. But could he be blamed? The moment his mother brought him screaming into this world, he had been shunned. Cast aside like a rag doll.

The vague memories of his childhood came back to him in a rush, enveloping his mind as he contemplated if he should tell Christine or not.

* * *

"_Move aside!" Fabienne Landry cried, pushing the little 4 year old boy standing in her way. In one hand she carried a tray of baked buns, while in the other she brandished a thick stick that she used to poke the child in the back. "Useless scum!"_

_The boy stumbled and nearly hit his head on the wooden table. Only by grabbing onto a nearby chair was he able to steady himself and stand up._

_Young Erik Landry was a known freak in their village, a hateful product of Fabienne's rape almost five years ago. She was the village beauty and all the men wanted her as their wife. One of them, however, couldn't wait and abducted her._

_For nearly a week he kept her locked in a dark room, giving her food and drink… and the stabbing pains that came when he inserted himself into her again and again. Fabienne was released soon after, and she hoped that she wouldn't get pregnant._

_Unfortunately, when a man spills his seed into a woman numerous times, it is highly unlikely that she wouldn't get pregnant. Fabienne bore Erik and instantly shunned him. The boy was born with a deformity on his right cheek that made it look like a raisin with an odd eyeball stuck in the middle._

_The villagers whispered behind Fabienne's backs while the man who violated her and fathered her child remained a mystery. No one dared court Fabienne after that, and so she lived her life as a cranky single mother who ran a bakeshop._

_Erik never heard a loving word or gesture from his mother, and he was reduced to eating the scraps of bread that were left from a day's sale. As a baby Fabienne fed him goat's milk because she didn't want him near her, and she fitted him with a grubby mask made from a sack of flour the moment he was old enough to walk around._

_Erik heard the tinkle of the shop bell and saw a rather tall, slim woman enter the shop. He scurried near the doorway to get a closer look._

"_Hello, missus, what can I get you today?" Fabienne asked sweetly. The woman looked rich and prominent, owing to the number of jewels she wore._

"_I am looking for the child they say is the son of the devil," the woman replied simply. "I wish to buy him."_

_Fabienne's eyes bulged. The woman was the answer to all her prayers. "Why? Are you going to kill him?"_

_The woman laughed. "No, not at all. I want him as part of my sideshow. I'm the wife of the leader of a gypsy circus. So, are you willing to sell him? I hear you have no use of the boy."_

"_Fifty francs," Fabienne said immediately._

"_Done." The woman dropped a rather heavy bag of coins on the counter. Fabienne gave the woman a wide grin and walked to the back of the shop. She saw Erik huddled in one corner and dragged him outside._

"_No, Mama! I want to stay with you, Mama!" he cried, clinging desperately to Fabienne's skirts._

_She slapped him. "I am not your Mama anymore! You have no parents, nobody loves you! Now go! Get out of my sight, get out of my life!"_

_Erik was dragged screaming from his mother by two burly men. The last thing he saw of his mother was her counting the francs she had gotten from selling him to the woman. _

_That moment Erik vowed to drop the name "Landry" forever. His mother didn't see him as part of her family, so he would cast her out of his. The only reminder he had of his life with his mother was the grubby sack mask, which now lay at the bottom of a trunk._


	10. Chapter 10: The Mask Comes Off

**Chapter Ten: The Mask Comes Off**

_It's time_, Erik finally decided.

"Chrissy?"

She turned her head and looked at him. "What is it?"

"Remember when you kept asking me if you could take of my mask?"

She nodded. "You promised me you would let me see when I was older."

He took a deep breath and placed her hand on his mask. "Go ahead."

Christine's eyes widened. "Do you really mean it?"

"Yes. But remember…" he said as he caressed her cheek lovingly. "That I will always be your friend. No matter what happens."

"Why are you talking like that? It sounds as if I just said goodbye to you."

Erik said nothing and took one look at her before closing his eyes. He created a mental picture of her then, making sure that he would always remember her face before she found out he was a monster.

Before she left him.

He felt her lift up his mask and heard her gasp. He waited for her screams, her shrill cries of how he could betray her like this, etc. etc.

It didn't come. He opened his eyes, only to find her smiling fondly at him.

"Chrissy?" he choked out.

"Oh Erik." She wrapped her arms around his neck, still holding on to his mask.

He was shocked. She was certainly full of surprises today.

"Why aren't you screaming?" he asked her.

She laughed and pulled away. "I find nothing to be scared of. This… ugliness you say you have changes nothing between us." Christine reached up and traced her finger on the wrinkled skin. "You're still my beloved Erik."

He laughed, half-relieved and half-ecstatic. He felt as if his heart would burst from the sudden euphoria that had taken a hold of him. He suddenly grabbed her by the waist and spun her around.

"Erik!" she exclaimed, giggling. "Put me down!"

"Oh Chrissy, you don't know how happy you've made me," he said, setting her down on the floor. "I feared you would turn away from me."

"Never." She kissed him fiercely on his deformed cheek before holding his mask away from him. "Can I keep this?"

"Why?" he asked, smiling at her. He now felt like he could take anyone and anything – he had Christine, the only person who mattered to him in the world.

"Because when you're with me, I don't want to see you wearing it," she replied. "Now that I know what you look like, I want to see you. The real you, not the mask-wearing Erik I've known for the past 13 years."

"Very well. But you're the only one who can see me like this, Chrissy," he reminded her. "I don't want others to see my face."

"I understand." She smiled and tried putting the mask on. "Your face is bigger than mine."

"Of course it is," Erik laughed. Christine looked ridiculous with his mask barely clinging to her face. She still was breathtakingly beautiful, however, and he gently pried the mask from her face and put it on his own. "Shall we return?"

Christine hesitated. "I want to spend more time with you, Erik. When I'm out there I have to be this prim and proper duchess. I'm tired of everything. I want to stay here with you."

For a moment Erik was tempted to let her, but he knew that would be impossible. They would certainly come looking for her, and knowing that fool Raoul de Chagny, he would be able to find his lair.

They'd be separated and he would never see Christine again.

"No, Chrissy, you have to return. If you go missing, they will search for you. Do you want them to find me?"

"No! I want to keep you safe, Erik." She sighed. "Very well. If you want me to return, then I will."

He almost corrected her; he almost told her that he _didn't_ want her to return, he wanted her to stay with him forever. But he held his tongue. Christine belonged with society, while he… belonged here.

Erik accompanied her back to the passageway, but this time he led her to a passageway that brought them behind the hidden door behind the mirror in Christine's room. She gasped with surprise.

"So this is how you've been entering my room!" she said with delight. "Now I know where to watch out for you."

He smiled. "I've been watching over you, Chrissy. Protecting you."

"How sweet." Christine reached up and laid her hand on his mask. "Can you stay with me tonight?"

"Still scared of the dark?"

"No. I just… like knowing you're near me," Christine replied, her cheeks turning pink. "You must think me too forward. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, no, Chrissy. I'll stay with you tonight," Erik assured her. "Farewell for now."

Christine smiled. "I'll wait for you."

As they said good bye, both of them suddenly felt hollow and empty, like something vital was being ripped from their bodies. But as always, they kept silent.

* * *

"So you're saying that Christine has a lover?" Eugene Colbert wheezed, slamming his cocktail glass on the mahogany table. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you want, but I have seen the scoundrel with my own eyes. And she was kissing him. Kissing him, for Christ's sake!" Raoul gulped his bourbon in one go and motioned for the butler to bring him another.

Ever since Christine had sent him out of her room he had been drinking himself into a form of a stupor, until all he could do was stagger into bed and fall asleep. This gave him horrible hangovers, but he didn't care.

The woman he loved didn't seem to want him around anymore, and he marveled at how fast her attitude towards him changed.

He had deduced that it must be due to that man she has been seeing. At first he had thought it was Erik, but ever since Detective Neville had told him that there was no Erik living in the opera for the past 20 years, it was possible that the boy Christine was so intent on finding was merely a drifter.

After she left the opera house, so did he. After all, she seemed like his benefactor back then.

Raoul had been putting off his telling of Christine's fornications, but he couldn't stand it any longer. So he had ridden to the Colbert estate and told Eugene the whole sordid affair.

At first Eugene thought he was drunk, but after insisting that he wasn't, the man finally listened to him. Now he sat in shock and lit himself a cigar. Eugene inhaled deeply and let the smoke out in one huge puff.

"She has been trained well, she wouldn't act the way you say she does," Eugene said, still refusing to believe it. "He may be another close friend."

"Oh really? Then why haven't I met him yet? If they're so close, then why doesn't she want to introduce me to him?" Raoul snarled. "She's hiding something."

"My dear boy, perhaps she has found her match. With the way you've been going about her, she must think that you'd hunt the man down and murder him," Eugene suggested, exhaling another puff of smoke. "Let her go, man. There are other women in society."

"No. Christine Daae is the fairest of them all. I don't know why you even retracted your pursuit of her – not that I'm complaining – but she is a catch." Raoul took the glass of bourbon but sipped it this time. The hot, burning liquid went down his throat and settled in his stomach. He felt ready to gag at the very thought of another man touching Christine. "And one I have no intention of letting go."

Eugene scoffed. "You're obsessed."

"So what if I am?" Raoul said defensively. "Look at her. Tell me you can't look at her and desire her one way or another."

"I don't. I have a wife," Eugene said, but he could see where Raoul was leading. He shook all ungodly thoughts from his mind and crushed his cigar on the ashtray beside him. "Raoul. You're putting too much emotion on this case. If she isn't meant for you, let her go. Let her be happy."

"She'll be happy with _me_," Raoul countered stubbornly.

Eugene sighed. Raoul de Chagny always gave him a headache, first by competing with him for Christine's hand in marriage, second by beating him in every swordfight they had engaged in, and third for constantly insisting that he was the only one for Christine, blah blah blah.

"All I can suggest is that you take care," Eugene said. "The Daae family is very powerful owing to their ties to the throne of England. If you hurt Christine, you'll have a lot to answer to."

Raoul smirked. "Not if I get her as my wife and in my bed. Then nothing and no one will be able to touch me."

Eugene was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Trevor. The boy grabbed his father's hand and begged him to take him to the plaza.

"Excuse me, my friend. A son needs his father." Eugene smiled apologetically at Raoul, who nodded his head in response. He watched Eugene and Trevor leave the room, the latter laughing gaily.

A petite woman entered the room and fixed her eyes on Raoul. Lucille Colbert usually had a calm demeanor, but now her eyes flashed angrily at him.

"Madame Colbert," Raoul greeted, standing up and giving a slight bow. "How may I be of service?"

"You talk of Christine as if she were yours," she accused. "Christine is a sweet, sweet girl and here you are, telling my husband wrong tales of my old friend. How dare you."

"Dearest Madame, I speak the truth. Christine has lain with another man and -"

"Have you seen them? Why must you judge her so quickly? So you saw her kiss him. On the _cheek_. He may be only her friend, Viscount. It's as if you don't know Christine at all!" Lucille's hand rested on her bulging belly and she glared at Raoul, who didn't back down.

He was all but infuriated. In fact, the situation was quite funny, given that some pregnant biddy was chiding him and harping on like some chicken. Raoul had to bite his cheek to keep him from laughing.

"The way you're acting, Viscount, I do not wonder why she has shunned your presence," Lucille said bitingly before leaving the room.

Raoul seethed. That last remark hit home, but he still refused to back down. He was a de Chagny, and whatever a de Chagny wanted, they got. Right now all he wanted was Christine.

* * *

Meg Giry was humming to herself as she brushed her long, blonde locks in front of the mirror. These past few days had made her so happy she could dance around like a ballerina. Christine and Raoul were hardly seen in public together, and Meg suspected it was because of the incident in Christine's room a few mornings ago.

Whatever the cause it left Meg free to pursue Raoul. She loved him deeply, and she hated Christine for not seeing his feelings for her. At times she wanted to grab the snotty duchess and shake the reasoning into her tiny brain.

But now Raoul had been kicked out of Christine's presence, and she sorely hoped he would fall into her bed.

Meg never had the life Christine had. At a young age she was forced to accept that she was unlike those glittering women who arrived in the opera house where she was born. All she could do was gape at their costly furs and envy them for the large diamonds and jewels they wore.

She knew her mother received meager wages, which were hardly enough for them to live on. Sometimes Meg wondered who her father was and why he left them. Her mother certainly never mentioned him, only that they grew up together. When he learned that she was pregnant, he left her.

Madame Giry never spoke his name, but Meg believed – or at least she wanted to – that he was actually a rich aristocrat who would one day come back for her and she would then be thrust into the same group of people she had long admired.

But he didn't.

Meg slowly learned to hate her father and everyone else in the upper crust of society. She all believed they were snobs and hated them for something they had no control over: to be born into a life of privilege. She hated Christine Daae the most, for being born into one of the most powerful families in Europe.

Everything Meg wanted, Christine had. Now she had the man Meg loved, and Christine didn't even appreciate him.

The moment Christine arrived in the opera house Meg knew they wouldn't get along. How could they? Every time she looked at Christine she saw the girl she wasn't.

Rich. Beautiful. Loved.

But Meg knew that if she married Raoul de Chagny, things would change. Oh yes, they would. The de Chagnys were not as powerful as the Daaes, but they were very influential. Armand de Chagny was a favorite of the king of England, and some said that he was more the king's advisor than a friend.

Imagine what her position would be like if she became Viscountess de Chagny. Everyone would fall over just to give her what she wanted. Plus she would be the wife of one of the most charming men in Europe.

Meg heard the door to her room open and she snapped out of her reverie. Her mother leaned against the door studying her.

"You seem happy," Madame Giry said. "Why the sudden change?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Mother," Meg replied, studying her face from every angle. She had on one of her fine dresses, which was saying something because she didn't have a very vast wardrobe. "I'll be back before dinner."

Madame Giry eyed her daughter suspiciously. She was _humming_, for goodness' sake. Meg never hummed, unless she was about to get something she wanted. Madame Giry had a sinking feeling that the reason why her daughter was so happy was because of Christine and Raoul's argument.

This did not bode well at all.

* * *

"Tell me about your childhood, Erik," Christine murmured, toying with one of Erik's fingers. The two of them were stretched out on Christine's bed: he had his back propped up with one of the pillows and she was leaning against his torso.

Since Raoul was out of the opera house – again – they felt secure. Just to be sure, however, Erik had locked the door as soon as he came in through the mirror passageway.

"What about it? I've told you everything." Erik placed one hand behind his head. "Unless you want me to repeat it for you."

"You haven't told me about your parents," Christine insisted. "The only thing you've told me about your life before the opera house is that you came from the circus."

"Well, I was born in a small village. I never knew my father, plus my mother was so busy with work that she hardly had enough time to care for me," Erik lied. "I had enough and ran away to join the circus. I never looked back after that."

Christine didn't believe him. She knew he was lying, but she felt him grow tense when she mentioned his parents. So she let it go; it must be a touchy subject for him to refuse her like that.

"Oh. So you're not curious to learn what happened to your mother?"

Erik shook his head. In truth he had returned to his home three years after Christine left. It wasn't far from Paris, and Erik hitchhiked on large wagons carrying food from the city whenever he felt tired. When he found his old home, he saw his mother.

She had a family. He saw her laughing and smiling as if she didn't previously sell her firstborn son for fifty francs. Beside her was her husband, a tall, good-looking fellow who probably had no idea his pretty wife had been violated.

And there before them, were their three beautiful children: two boys and one girl.

Erik had longed to approach them, but he knew that his mother would shun him again. So he returned to Paris, hatred in his heart. He never thought about Fabienne Landry or her perfect family ever again.

"Erik?"

Christine's soft voice cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present. "What is it?"

"I'm sleepy." She yawned as if to prove her point, and then instead of turning on her side and using the other pillow, she snuggled closer to him, her head resting near his stomach and one arm flung across his waist.

Erik didn't know if he should wriggle a little or not – she looked so peaceful that he didn't have the heart to disturb her sleep any more.

So come morning, Erik's body felt sore all over. Still, he had had the pleasure of seeing Christine's different sleeping expressions. He learned that her snore was soft, very much like the low hissing of a snake. She also tended to sleep on her side with one arm flung around something soft – like his stomach – and she also murmured in her sleep.

As he heard the cock crow in the distance, Erik's eyes were threatening to close. He finally heard her stir, but he still didn't move. It was nearly an hour later when Christine finally awoke from her sleep.

The first thing she sought was his face. He quickly pretended to be asleep, which wasn't hard to do considering he was up most of the night. He heard her pull away from him and felt her shift her weight slightly.

"Oh Erik," she murmured sleepily, and he imagined that she was smiling. Suddenly he felt her hot breath near his lips and could smell traces of her perfume. Her lips pressed the bottom of his mask as she kissed him.

His eyes flew open and he looked at her.

"Oh!" she gasped, surprised. "Oh… good morning, Erik." Her cheeks turned red and she looked down.

"Good morning," he said huskily. "What, may I ask, were you doing?"

"N- nothing," she said lamely.

He raised his eyebrow. "You know you can tell me, Chrissy."

"Fine. I was kissing you. Happy?"

* * *

**Author's Note: In case you didn't know, I've made a fan trailer from Erik's POV. It can be found on YouTube (where else? xD), by typing "Erik Fan Trailer". You can also check out my other videos by looking for fanficfan007 at YouTube. :)**

**To those who have been reading and leaving reviews/comments, thank you! You're the main reason why I keep this fanfic going. :) Rest assured I'll do my very best to make your constant patronage worthwhile. :D**

**In order to satisfy your curiosity as to what will happen in the next few chapters:**

**Erik and Christine share a secret. Raoul's jealousy grows, while Meg vows to find Christine's secret and destroy her rival's reputation. And of course, there's the Masque. :)**

**Grab your costumes and masks, dear readers! I, along with "Cherik", will take you deeper into the Opera Populaire. _Merci_! **


	11. Chapter 11: Proposal of Love

**Chapter Eleven: Proposal of Love**

"You were kissing me? Why?" Erik sat up and faced Christine, who turned an even deeper shade of red.

"I don't know," Christine said softly. "You looked so adorable I couldn't help myself."

Erik chuckled. "Me? Adorable? Do I look like a baby when I sleep?"

"To me you do," Christine replied, still not looking at him. A blanket was twisted around her legs causing her to get off balanced and fall on the bed. Erik caught her before her face smacked on the mattress and helped her sit upright.

"Well, thank you for the compliment," he said as he pulled away from her. "I think."

Christine made a face and hugged the pillow. "Are you hungry?"

Erik's stomach gave a low rumble in response.

She laughed. "I just _had_ to ask. Come on." Christine grabbed a robe that was lying on the floor and took Erik's hand.

"Where are we going?" Erik whispered as Christine slowly unlocked her door. He was silenced when Christine put her hand over his lips.

"Wait. I'm checking if Raoul is out and about," she told him. Christine opened her door a crack and listened for any sounds. Fortunately, the only sounds coming from Raoul's room next door were his snores. There were no other people up, so Christine led Erik from her room and into the mess hall.

The cook had cleaned all the dirty plates from last night's supper, but Christine knew that there were still a few fruits and bread in the cupboard.

"I hope you don't mind having bread and fruit for breakfast," Christine told him as they entered the mess hall.

"Not at all."

As expected, the mess hall was deserted, but Christine knew that Madame Giry would soon be up and about. She quickly headed towards the cupboard that held the food.

"Here let me help you," Erik offered, but Christine waved him away.

"Don't worry, I can do this myself. Sit down," she said as she opened the cupboard.

Erik reluctantly sat down on one of the chairs while Christine took out a loaf of bread and a few fruits. Next she took two plates and set one in front of Erik.

"I don't really know how to slice bread," Christine said sheepishly, and Erik nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Christine holding the bread knife awkwardly.

He took it from her without a word and began slicing the loaf evenly. "There. You should have told me you needed a knife; you could have hurt yourself."

"Oh well." Christine grabbed an apple and was about to bite into it when Erik stopped her. "What's wrong now?"

"Did you clean these?" he asked, standing up and taking the fruits. When Christine shook her head, he shot her a bemused look and went to the sink. Christine followed him and peered over his shoulder as he washed an apple, a pear, a banana, and a peach, while putting the rest of the fruits back in the cupboard.

"I didn't know we needed to clean the fruits before we ate them." Christine felt stupid; she didn't know the most basic things.

"It's alright, I can't really blame you. I mean, you've had everything handed to you on a silver platter all your life," Erik assured her as they sat back down. "So, do you want the peach or the banana?"

"The peach, please." Erik handed her the said fruit and began peeling the banana. They ate in silence, which was only interrupted by the occasional cock crows. Suddenly Erik put down the bread slice he was eating and became very, very still. "What is it?"

Erik raised his hand and motioned for her to keep quiet. Christine clamped her mouth shut and tried listening, but all she heard was.. nothing. Erik stood up, whispered a hasty good-bye, and suddenly dashed to the back of the kitchen.

A few seconds later she heard footsteps. She gasped and hurried to keep the plate and food Erik was eating, but she barely had enough time to dump the plate in the sink when Meg strode in. The girl saw her and her face instantly soured.

"Good morning, Meg," Christine greeted, keeping her voice steady. She wondered if Meg heard the loud beating of her heart – that was certainly a close one. But how on earth did Erik hear Meg approach?

Meg didn't reply; instead, she strolled over to where Christine's plate lay and studied the food laid out. "You're up early."

"I know. I suddenly felt hungry so I decided to –"

"Shut it. I'm not interested to hear about anything connected to you," Meg interrupted rudely. She suddenly spied the plate in the sink and looked at Christine suspiciously. "Whose plate is that?"

"I don't know," Christine replied quickly, thinking fast. "I didn't notice it was there until now."

"The cupboard is right above the sink," Meg pointed out. "How come you didn't see it?"

"Like I said, I was hungry," Christine said patiently, trying hard not to lose her temper with Meg. "I wasn't focusing on the sink."

Meg nodded once and then shrugged. "Whatever." She took out another apple and bit into it.

"Oh, you should have washed it," Christine told Meg.

"Did I ask for your advice? I don't think so." Meg bit into the apple and sauntered out of the kitchen.

Christine sighed in relief and sat on the bench. She didn't feel hungry anymore, so she threw the half-eaten fruits away and washed the two plates by running them under the spout, just like what Erik had done. She gazed in the direction Erik had gone, but of course he was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Erik seethed inwardly as he heard the little brat speak so harshly towards Christine. All Christine wanted was to be friends with Meg, and yet the latter refused to have anything to do with his friend.

_I should tell Chrissy she should give up on Meg_, he reminded himself. _The silly bitch isn't worth a franc_.

Apparently he needed to resume the tricks he did to Meg as they grew up. The girl didn't know when to stop.

Erik pondered over the things he could do to Meg, such as tie a bucket of ice cold water over her doorway so that she would get soaked as soon as she entered her room. No, that wouldn't work – Madame Giry might be the one to get dunked, and she would certainly try and find out who did it.

_Think, Erik, think_, he urged himself.

If there was one thing Erik prided himself on, it was being mischievous and naughty. Perhaps it was due to the countless times he had practiced on Meg, but he believed he had an uncanny ability of stirring up a ruckus with the ladies in the opera house. Once he had left a frog in the ballet slippers of one of the prima ballerinas, and the poor dancer screamed bloody murder and refused to come back to the opera house.

Erik had laughed until his stomach was sore and he felt as if his ribs had cracked. The ballerina was just like Carlotta, although not as promiscuous.

Another time he had dropped water balloons on Meg as she pranced around the stage, believing she was the star of the show. She had run screaming and crying to her mother, saying that the Opera Ghost was targeting her again.

Now, as Erik mulled over the possibilities, he came up with a really amusing plot. Erik knew that Meg loved to powder her face a lot, so it would make for an interesting prank.

It may be a bit harsh, but Erik felt she deserved it after all the things Meg did to Christine. With a slightly evil smile playing on the corners of his lips, Erik donned his cape and headed to the series of sewers that led from his lair and beneath Paris.

* * *

"Christine!"

Christine heard Raoul call her from the grand foyer and she slowly turned around. "Hello, Raoul."

Raoul was breathless from running and he stopped for a few seconds to catch his breath. Christine was surprised; she had never seen Raoul out of breath before, much less run. He usually strode quickly and purposefully, but he never hurried.

Whatever he was going to say must be important.

"Christine, I'm sorry," he said finally, after a few seconds of terse silence. "I know I was out of line, but it's just… you've changed so much for the past few weeks, Christine. I didn't know how to react."

Christine kept silent. Perhaps Erik was right, she had changed. Who could blame Raoul? He had been used to her depending on him and leaning onto him for support, but since she had been reunited with Erik, her attitude towards him had changed.

"Raoul, you shouldn't apologize," she said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm at fault as well. It's being back here… there are so many memories coming back to me."

"So you forgive me?" Raoul asked. He couldn't believe his ears, but then again, this was _Christine_ he was talking to. She couldn't stay mad at anybody for long, most especially him.

_Her lover doesn't have a tight hold on her then_, he thought triumphantly. _He can't make her reject me as her friend._

Christine nodded. "But please, do not badger me constantly. I have enough matters to attend to, and your constant attention isn't helping." She clasped his hand and smiled. "Please understand."

Raoul nodded. "I understand. I'm happy we're on speaking terms again, Christine." Without any warning, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Christine's eyes widened and she forced a smile. "I'll leave you to your business, then."

Christine watched Raoul as he ran down the steps. He seemed to have a slight spring in his step, and she could hear snatches of the tune he was whistling. The spot where he had kissed her burned – not from blushing, but from bewilderment.

Somehow she knew she wouldn't feel that way if Erik would kiss her, and she had to control herself from reaching up and wiping the spot Raoul kissed. Christine sighed and made her way to the small library where she had started studying the different papers regarding the finances of the opera house.

As usual, the room was empty, but a sudden familiar jolt alerted Christine to Erik's presence. She smiled slowly to herself and walked inside, taking care to lock the door. Christine knew that Raoul had promised not to bother her until they were still in Paris, but she wanted to be doubly sure.

The first few years of the opera house since Christine and her father left were prosperous, but ever since Monsieurs Andre and Firmin had taken over from Monsieur Lefevre, the Opera Populaire was fraught with debts. The opera was still considered the finest in Paris, and many opera singers made their careers singing for the elite families and other prominent figures in Parisian society at the opera house.

Things took a turn for the worse when Carlotta Blanchard came into the scene. The opera owners spent lavishly on her costumes while neglecting those of the others, which affected the quality of the play. However unfortunate it may have been, the public became smitten with Carlotta and they hardly noticed the other players onstage.

But behind closed doors (or according to the finance reports), the other workers in the Opera Populaire suffered. Their meager wages were reduced even further, and this prompted many of them to seek employment elsewhere.

"It's a good thing I came when I did," Christine murmured as she dropped the final piece of paper.

"Yes, it is," Erik agreed. "Many of the performers are grateful, including me."

Christine reached for his hand and felt it slide into her grasp. "I didn't know you performed."

He laughed. "Not in the way you think. I did perform, but only on the people who annoyed the rest of the performers. Like Meg, for instance."

"Oh Erik, what did you do this time?" Christine asked, rising from her chair and facing him. "What mischief have you been up to?"

Erik wiggled his eyebrows and then laughed. "Nothing that would harm her physically, I assure you. Let's just say we may be hearing someone screaming her head off within today."

Christine slapped his arm, but since he was so big and burly he hardly noticed. "Erik!"

"What? You know I don't take things lying down, Chrissy." Erik looked at her and winked. "So, the Viscount has apologized. What do you make of it?"

"He's right, in a way," Christine surmised. "But there's something off; I can't put my finger on it."

"Maybe it had to do with the fact that he kissed you," Erik replied, his tone and expression suddenly sulky.

"No! I didn't enjoy it, if that's what you mean," Christine countered. She turned her head to the table, where more reports lay waiting. She sighed.

Erik saw where she was looking and sighed as well. "Do you need help?"

"Well, if you understand finance, then yes." Christine smiled. "Or I can teach you."

"By all means," Erik said, extending his arm. "I would love nothing better than to have a beautiful duchess teach me everything there is to know about finance."

* * *

Meg hurried towards the Viscount as he entered. So far she hadn't seen Christine all day, save for that short incident in the mess hall. Her lip curled whenever she remembered Christine order her to wash the apple before eating it.

_Just because it came from _our _cupboard doesn't make it dirty_! she had wanted to scream at the duchess. Of course she knew her mother would scold her no end once Christine tattled, so she had kept her piece.

Now she had seen Raoul and her heart raced. He was so handsome that Meg could hardly focus. But she did, and before he even opened the door her hand was on his shoulder.

"Raoul," she breathed, smiling slowly at him. "I've wanted to talk to you for days, but you seemed busy. I'm glad I finally caught you."

Raoul stopped and looked at her. Meg took that as her cue to proceed, so she took a deep breath.

"Raoul, I know you and Christine have a few problems. I just wanted to say –"

"I'm going to marry her."

" – I love you, Raoul."

The two were left stunned.

"What did you say?" they chorused. Meg pursed her lips and waited for him to speak.

"You first, Mademoiselle," Raoul invited.

"I said I love you," Meg said huskily, looking at him hopefully, praying that what she thought she had heard wasn't true. "I love you Raoul."

Raoul's eyes widened. "You love me?"

Meg nodded. "I've loved you the moment I saw you get out of that carriage. I know Christine has been neglecting you and I think she's a fool for not seeing you as the gentleman you are, and I was hoping that once you knew –"

Raoul cut her off. "Never insult the duchess in front of me," he said angrily. "You forget, we are aristocrats, commoner. The very thought of you hoping that someone from the de Chagny family could ever love someone like you is laughable. No. I will marry Christine Daae. In fact, I was on my way to buy her an engagement ring. Now if you would excuse me…"

Meg didn't hear the rest. The moment she heard him say that he planned to marry Christine, her mood darkened. Never mind that he had openly called her a commoner, she knew he didn't mean it.

_I hate her_, Meg screamed inwardly. _Everything I want, she just has to have! I wish she would fall on the stairs and break her neck_!

She turned to face Raoul, but he had gone. She saw him get into a carriage and close the door. Without warning, tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

_Why? Why must I be punished like this? What did I do to deserve such a life_? she wailed, cursing almost every aristocrat she knew, but most especially Christine, whom she called a variety of foul names. Not once did she ever blame Raoul, the man she loved.

_I swear that I will find out your secrets_, Christine, she vowed as she pounded up the steps and ran sobbing into her room. _I swear that I will find out who you've been seeing. I'll find out everything, and then, only then, will I destroy you_.

* * *

Erik looked through the papers and knew at once why Christine was usually tired whenever she had a meeting with the two idiotic opera owners. Finance was a taxing business (no pun intended), and to have someone as delicate as Christine do this day in and day out was monstrous.

She was a duchess, so why didn't she simply hire accountants and other people to do the job? Erik hated seeing Christine work too hard – or maybe he was being too overprotective. He had been hiding his emotions for so long, thinking that he was simply hallucinating.

But he wasn't.

Every time he thought of someone hurting Christine (like Meg), touching her (like Raoul), or simply giving her a rough time (like Carlotta, Monsieur Andre and Firmin), his blood boiled. He felt like hurting them – no, killing them or ripping them apart, whichever worked best.

Then there was the way she made him feel whenever she stayed close to him. It was as if he was drowning in the very scent of her, and that if she moved away he felt like he couldn't breathe. Christine was his essence, the very thing that kept him going. She was the only person in the world that mattered to him, and he would eagerly go to his death if it meant that she would be safe.

_Don't deny this any longer, Erik_, his inner voice told him.

Erik was in love with Christine. This revelation didn't shock him, and that shocked him. Perhaps he had loved her all along but had refused to acknowledge it. As he stole glances at her from across the table, he caught her staring at him a few times.

With a start, he wondered: did she feel the same for him?

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey again! :) Thanks for those who've been reading this fanfic (I bet you know who you are *wink wink*), you've been great sources of motivation! :D**

**Okay, so I've been having huge bursts of inspiration these past few days (*hugs Gerard Butler tightly* xD), so I've finished a few of the final chapters for the fan fic. NO, I won't send you an advanced copy (what'll happen to the surprise? ;) ), BUT I will leave you with an excerpt. Nothing too revealing... okay, so Cherik will reveal "something". xD I hope this'll keep you guys raring to read more and stick with me until the last chapter. :D**

**Excerpt from Chapter Twenty Two: Christine and Erik**

**_"I don't know how to do this," Erik admitted as Christine led him inside his bedroom. His words were silenced when Christine kissed him, and he found himself drowning in the sweetness of her mouth and tongue._**

**_"Nor do I," she said breathlessly as they pulled away. "We should just let it happen."_**

**_Erik felt her fingers undo the buttons of his vest and he gave a deep sigh. His hands slid the thick robe covering her and felt something silky beneath his hands. He looked down and liked what he saw. Christine was wearing the same nightgown the night they first met, and he remembered how naked she looked._**

**_His manhood reared its head in response, and Christine gasped. She could feel his bulging manhood through her nightgown; they were so close to each other that their pelvises were touching. Christine moved forward, pushing her body against his. Soon they were intertwined with each other, her thigh on top of his, his hand clasping her bare thigh, and their hands groping each other in the low gloom of the room._**

**NOW you know why this has been rated "T". Or has it? I'm not entirely sure, but anyways, I can fix that little problem. ;D**

**For those who haven't seen the fan trailer I've made for Erik, search for fanficfan007 on YouTube, or type in "Erik Fan Trailer". I'll be doing another trailer for this fanfic, so stay tuned. :D**

**P.S. Feel free to ask me any questions about the fanfic; I usually reply via the review/comment section. As long as the question won't spoil the surprise at the very end (I hope the "surprise" I'm leading meets to your expectations), I'm ready to answer it. :)**

**Cheerios, and have some Phantom Phlakes. xD Erik recommends it. :))**


	12. Chapter 12: Mutual Attraction

**Chapter Twelve: A Mutual Attraction**

Christine lowered her head. The numbers and words on the pages were getting blurry and she stifled a yawn. She wasn't sleepy – it was only six in the evening, after all – but she was bored. Finally she set the piece of paper she was reading and leaned her head against the backrest of the armchair.

Erik caught her movement and stared at her. "What's wrong, Chrissy?"

"I'm tired of reading and analyzing, Erik. Take me to the rooftop?" Christine asked, smiling.

"Of course. I wasn't getting much out of these papers, except that the opera is in bad need of funding," Erik replied, standing up and walking towards her. As she took his hand, she felt her heart race.

For the past few days Christine puzzled over these newfound feelings for Erik. Even before she had learned of his deformity, she had to admit that he an effect on her. He made her feel safe, loved, and understood.

Unlike the other people she knew, Erik didn't expect her to put on any airs or judge her for her shortcomings. He accepted her for who she was, no more, no less. Of course there were those moments when she silently begged for him to simply hold her and take her in his arms and kiss her passionately…

_Why am I thinking like this? Am I in love?_ Christine thought as Erik led her out of the library. They walked swiftly through the hallways, taking care not to use any of the main corridors that Carlotta, Madame Giry, or any of the performers used.

Soon enough they were walking up the steps that led to the rooftop. The cold wind blew from the archway and Christine clung to Erik as if he were a shield. This sudden contact caused Christine to blush and she pulled away quickly.

"Cold?" Erik began untying his cape but Christine stopped him.

"No, I'm fine. You don't have to…"

Erik draped his cape over her anyway, and she laughed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Erik smiled and she saw he was wearing a suit with a shirt that had a few buttons unbuttoned. She could see the outline of his chest and her breath caught in her chest. With an exasperated cry, she began pacing around the rooftop.

Her sudden outburst surprised Erik. Usually she was so composed that she hardly showed any anger or irritation. Now there she was, muttering to herself and wringing her hands nervously.

"Christine? Christine, what's bothering you?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders and looking deep into her eyes.

She averted her gaze. "I feel so confused, Erik. I don't know what I feel anymore."

"Feel about what?"

Christine hesitated. Should she tell him? He had been honest with her about his appearance, then she should be honest with her feelings.

_But are you sure?_ a voice prompted her.

She thought of Erik leaving her and her heart thumped painfully in her chest, and she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

_Yes. I'm sure_, Christine decided.

Erik was still looking at her intently, waiting for her answer.

"How I feel about you," she said in a rush, hoping that he wouldn't understand what she just said.

But he did.

"What are you saying?" Erik asked. He was wanted to hear it from her lips. He couldn't believe this was happening; a few minutes ago he was pondering his own feelings for her, and here she was, about to tell him hers. "Christine, just say what you mean to say."

"Oh god, I don't know why, but I love you!" she blurted, trying in vain to break away from his grasp. "I've been fighting these emotions since I met you after 12 years, but I can't keep them bottled in me anymore! I love you, Erik!"

She waited for him to reply, to say that he loved her too. Heaven knew that she needed for him to love her back; he was the only man who had made her feel this way.

Erik became as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on her. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted her chin using his finger and looked at her in the eyes. Those dark brown eyes that could capture him and make him forget everything else.

Then he said the words that changed their lives forever.

"I love you."

* * *

Christine had to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming or not. Her childhood friend turned out to be the man she'd fall deeply in love with and now, they were together. After they had confessed their love for each other, they went to the alcove and simply held one another.

"I didn't understand why other people said that love was glorious," Erik murmured as he brushed his nose against Christine's hair. "But I do now. I've always loved you, Chrissy. The moment I saw you crying in the snow, I loved you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Christine asked. "Were you afraid that I was like the others?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I've been rejected by so many people so many times. I thought that it would be best if we remained friends."

"No, we're not friends anymore. Lovers." Christine said the last word with a smile on her lips. "You're mine, and I'm yours. Forever."

"Forever," Erik echoed. "Is an awfully long time. But I can't think of anyone else to spend it with than you."

Christine smiled. "Good. Otherwise I'd be jealous. Very, very jealous." She suddenly sat up and faced him, caressing the exposed side of his face lovingly. "Stay with me tonight."

It wasn't an order or a question – it was a plea from a lover.

"You know I will." Erik smiled, Christine's hand still touching his cheek. "Do you know you're the only one who has touched me like this?"

Her face darkened. "Knowing the way they've treated you, I'm not surprised. They're vile, all of them. They never understand anything beyond than what they've been led to believe."

"They don't matter to us, Chrissy. Let them say anything they want, but as long as you and I are together, nothing will be able to keep us apart. Not even death."

Christine held his face and pulled him closer to her. "Never talk of death, my love. I've found you just now, and I don't want to lose you to anyone or anything, especially death. Please."

"I promise." In an effort to comfort her he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, but found himself trailing a line of kisses down her nose before stopping a few millimeters from her mouth. Christine filled in the remaining space by leaning forward towards him.

The moment their lips touched, a sensation similar to a mild electric jolt ran in currents through their entire body, awakening the silent emotions and sensations of their bodies. Their kiss started off gentle, but it soon became more and more urgent.

They broke apart after a few minutes but they still kept their faces within inches from each other. Christine smiled and exhaled, laughing as she ran her hand down his mask. The material was cool under her hand but it became warm as she rested her hand at the base of his neck.

"Erik," she said, her breath hitting him in the face and sending warm currents through his skin. "There's going to be a Masque a few days from now, and I'm supposed to bring an escort. I want you to come with me."

"I will. I don't care if I have to show my face to them," Erik replied boldly. "I know you'll be there with me."

"By your side." Christine placed his hand on top of the medallion, which hung by her neck. "Where will I meet you?"

"Don't worry, love. I will find you."

* * *

Erik was in heaven. If he died now – not that he wanted to – he would die happy. It took all of his control not to cry in front of Christine, but now in the safety of his lair, the tears from his eyes flowed free and unchecked.

She was the first and only person to show him love, without judging him based on his appearance. His good-for-nothing mother had showed him more cruelty that lasted him a lifetime, while the gypsy leader who bought him brought upon him humiliation every day and night as he was paraded as the son of the devil.

He thanked his lucky stars that he was able to escape from that hellhole and found the Opera Populaire – and Christine.

Christine. God, he would do anything for that woman, and now that she was his, he would kill for her. Christine didn't know what he was like when he was angry, but he did. He had killed the guard who was posted outside his cage by strangling him and felt no remorse.

The man _did_ beat him on a daily basis; it was only fitting that he died in his wretched sleep. Then there was the ballerina who had made Christine cry after complaining that the girl was always in her way.

The ballerina had imagined herself six feet above the Opera Populaire as a large banner of herself was erected on the eve of her first big performance. Instead she ended up six feet below the ground after Erik had laced her evening drink with strychnine.

He couldn't touch Meg Giry however, because the death of the ballet instructor's daughter would cause a bigger uproar than the death of a frisky ballerina. Especially after Meg had claimed that there was Opera Ghost targeting her, the authorities might suspect that there was someone in the opera house who was secretly a murderer.

Now that he had a reason for living, he was ready to bestow the most gruesome and dishonorable death to anyone who dared snatch her away from him. A form of protective possession took over him and he allowed his tears to dry.

He could tolerate Raoul de Chagny for he was one of the people Christine loved. But the moment the man tried to touch Christine the way his father had touched Fabienne Landry, aristocrat or not, Erik would take the man down.

* * *

"**Happy, my darling?" Charlotte Daae asked, appearing behind her daughter.**

"**Yes, Mother. I understand what you mean," Christine replied. "But why were you warning me as well? Is something going to happen to Erik?"**

**Charlotte smiled. "I cannot tell you your future, sweetheart."**

"**Then why did you come? Is there something you need to tell me?" Christine stood up and faced her mother. **

"**Your love for him is true. No matter what people say, your love for him is beautiful, pure, untainted. Never doubt that for one second."**

**Charlotte suddenly faded from view, but her words echoed through the still air. **

"**Mother!" Christine cried, trying in vain to run after her. A mysterious figure suddenly loomed in the distance and Christine saw the glint of a blade. The figure advanced, the blade clapped tightly near his/her side. **

**At first Christine thought the figure was running towards her, but something moved behind her and she turned around. Another figure stood behind her, his/her face half-concealed in shadow. However, there was one distinguishing feature: a white mask.**

**Erik. "Erik, run!" she screamed, running towards him.**

**Erik's feet seemed rooted to the floor and all he could do was stare in horror at the advancing figure.**

"**No!" Christine slammed her body in front of his. A split second later she felt a sudden stab of pain and she screamed.**

"Christine!"

Christine snapped out of her dream and realized she had sat up in fright. She looked beside her and saw Erik, his face creased with worry. "Oh Erik!" Christine threw her arms around him and held him tight. "Erik, Erik.."

She chanted his name softly, her body trembling.

"What is it, love? Please, tell me. Did you have a bad dream?" Erik said soothingly, doing his best to calm her down. "You were thrashing about in bed."

"I saw… I saw someone try to kill you," she revealed between sobs. "It was horrible. I don't want to dream about it ever again."

"Hush. Is that all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is there anything else that happened in your dream?"

Christine paused. "I… I shielded you."

Erik froze and pulled her from his hold so that he could look at her. "What? Why?"

"_Why_? Because I don't want anything to happen to you!" Christine cried.

"So you were willing to die for me? Do you realize what that would do to me?" Erik exclaimed softly. "Never do that, Chrissy. _Never_. You have other chances of being happy, but I… I only have you."

Christine said nothing. She was still reliving the horror of her dream, so the things he said didn't fully register. All she knew was that her first dream had been right once… did that mean that the second dream would prove to be right again?

Erik took her again in his arms and they lay together on the bed. He sang a soft lullaby in her ear, something about allowing him to go wherever she went, because that was all he would ask of her. It was so soothing and calming that Christine fell into another deep, but dreamless sleep.

As Christine slept, Erik kept an ear out for the viscount. He knew that Raoul had decided to spend the night at one of his friends' homes, but he could come back unannounced and decide to check up on Christine.

Christine's words echoed in his mind over and over: _"I… I shielded you."_

Who was the other person she dreamed about? His gut twisted at the thought of a blade sinking into Christine's back.

His gaze traveled to the fireplace where the flames flickered and formed odd shapes. He imagined her screaming for him while he watched helplessly, bound by an unseen foe. He strained to break free from the ropes that held him, but they remained firm.

Again and again the blade sank into Christine's thrashing body, and amidst his roars of "Christine!" and "I'll kill you!", he heard her say farewell and "I love you." Erik watched with horror as she dropped lifelessly to the floor, her blood seeping through her clothes and forming a red pool around her.

His eyes snapped open and like Christine, sat up with a start. He was sweating and visibly shaken, and he realized that he had fallen asleep. Christine was still lying beside him, her hair strewn over the pillow and her eyes closed. Unlike before she slept peacefully, her thoughts and dreams undisturbed.

Subconsciously she reached over to where he was, her arm nearly dropping on his manhood, but he caught her arm just in time and placed it on his chest as he lay back down.

_No. I won't let anyone hurt you, Chrissy. I'll take you away from them. I've killed twice, and I can certainly do it again_.

Erik turned on his side and pulled her towards him, her body pliant. He held the woman he loved in his arms, her body and steady breathing assuring him that she was still there, that her dream hadn't come true.

The night stretched on, with nothing but the gentle whistling of the wind outside the opera house to break the silence. Little did the two lovers know that this was one of the few nights where they could enjoy peace and quiet.

There were bigger things to come.

* * *

Meg sat down in front of her dresser and reached for her brush. She had spent the entire night crying, and nothing her mother said could comfort her. Raoul was the only man she wanted. Even if her mother told her that she knew someone who could make a good husband, she had refused.

She would settle for no one less than the Viscount de Chagny.

Now as a new day drew closer, Meg decided she would play another game that would help her catch the viscount. Now that the viscount knew of her feelings for him, she would be coy and pretend that nothing ever happened. She knew that aristocrats usually loved bragging about the number of people who loved them, and if she showed him otherwise, he might pay attention to her.

Meg put down her brush and opened her powder box. She dipped the puff and swirled it around, making sure to get every inch of her puff covered in powder. She trailed the puff along her cheek and soon powder covered every inch of her face.

A few seconds later, Meg realized something was wrong. Her face started to itch, like there were a hundred ants nipping at her skin.

"Mother! Mother!" she screamed, rushing to her mother's bedside and shaking her awake. The itching grew worse, and Meg began scratching at her face frantically.

Madame Giry woke up with a start. "Meg! Dear, what's wrong?"

Meg couldn't reply; her face felt very, very itchy. She continued clawing at her face until her mother grabbed her hands. "No! It itches so bad, Mother!"

"What did you use?" Madame Giry asked, leading her daughter towards the water basin. "Here, splash water on your face."

Meg obeyed, but the cool water did nothing to remove the stings. She began sobbing again and scratching her face. She knew she could scratch huge scars on her face, but she couldn't help it. Again and again she scratched, despite the blood that was running down her face.

"Make it stop!" she pleaded. Madame Giry held her hands, but Meg twisted and turned, screaming. Sets of footsteps pounded down the hallway outside, and Raoul, Christine, and Monsieur Firmin appeared.

"What happened?" Monsieur Firmin asked, walking over to Madame Giry and Meg. "Why is she screaming?"

"Her face itches," Madame Giry replied, looking worriedly at her daughter. "What are we to do?"

Raoul strode to the dresser and picked up the powder box. "Itching powder, perhaps."

Meg's face was full of scratches and there were small wounds on her forehead and cheeks. She looked terrible, like a cat had jumped on her face and used it as a scratching post.

Christine's thoughts flew to Erik and she sighed. She knew he meant well, but he had promised her it wouldn't hurt Meg physically. She gazed at the poor girl, who was trying her best not to scratch her entire face off.

Amidst the sobs, Christine could hear Meg say: "My face… my face… how will I ever attend the Masque _now_?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Keep the questions (and reviews) coming! :D**

**Seriously getting a case of video maker's block (or perhaps I can't find suitable music for Christine, OR I'm only in the mood to do vids about Erik, I dunno, lol). So the video I promised may take some time... unless you wouldn't mind another fan video for Erik? I'm listening to the music right now. ;D Gerard Butler definitely agrees with the song choice. :D**

**Anyway, I'm moving on to the Masque. Follow me in a few. ;)**


	13. Chapter 13: The Masquerade

**Chapter Thirteen: The Masquerade**

Entire Paris was celebrating. The upper crust of Parisian society was decked out in all their finery and readied for a night of celebration, music, feasting, and gossiping. The lower classes brought out kegs of beer and ale onto the streets and started a night long jamboree.

Every year the famous Masque was held, and the Opera Populaire served as the melting pot for the elite and those who could afford entrance into the building. Large guards were stationed at the entrance to prevent any drunken stragglers from getting in. This year, the main reason why everyone wanted to be in the Opera Populaire was the presence of Duchess Christine Daae of Wiltshire and her supposed escort, Viscount Raoul de Chagny of Klondike.

As early as 8 in the evening, the large doors of the opera opened and fireworks were set ablaze from the rooftop. Everyone was in a festive mood and soon carriages filled the streets leading to the opera house. Others decided to enjoy a stroll to the opera despite the risk of being robbed by a few brave robbers who couldn't resist the calling of those sparkling jewels and fur muffs the women wore. Every time a firework erupted into the dark sky, everyone gasped with delight and stared at the collection of colors.

Within the said opera house the performers had donned their own festive outfits that doubled as their costumes and were helping Madame Giry set up the tables and other last minute decorations. In the grand ballroom the tables were groaning from the weight of all the food that was piled on costly silver platters. The cook needed a few friends to help her prepare the food, and they spend the latter part of the previous night and the entire day in the kitchen. Now they were opening a few bottles of wine and enjoying their own feast in the mess hall.

In Madame Giry's room, Meg fretted over the small scars that had formed on her face (a result from her manic scratching a few days before) but silently thanked her lucky charms that she could cover these up with her mask. Besides, her dress could take any man's gaze from her face to her breasts, which were hardly covered by the fur neckline. It was one of the few dresses Meg owned and she valued it more than any of her possessions.

Madame Giry on the other hand, was in the grand foyer greeting guests and welcoming them to the opera house. Some ignored her while most gave her a smile and asked her if the duchess and viscount had showed themselves yet. Then they retreated into the warmth of the opera house to join their fellow aristocrats.

Raoul and Christine were in their rooms preparing for their arrival. Raoul opted to wear a sharp black suit that was similar to the uniforms soldiers wore in France. Christine wore a simple pink dress with a skirt that looked like petals: the dress she had seen in the costume room with Erik 12 years ago. As always, the medallion that Erik had given her rested comfortably on her bosom.

Erik had left her a small gift: a red rose tied with a black silk ribbon. She smiled and placed it along with the other roses in the vase on her dresser. She almost had a full bouquet due to the number of roses Erik bestowed on her for the past days. Since Raoul hadn't entered her room for days, he hadn't had a chance to see them and wonder where they came from.

And Erik… who could say where he was? He had promised Christine he would find her at the Masque and Christine trusted him. She heard a knock on her door followed by Raoul calling her name. She sighed, put down her brush and walked to the door.

Raoul expected her to be as beautiful as ever, but when he saw her in her new dress and her hair cascading down her back in gentle waves, he stopped. She looked like a goddess, and her favorite necklace only accentuated her beauty more.

He quickly composed himself and offered her his arm, which she reluctantly took. In truth Christine didn't want to arrive at the Masque with Raoul, since it would show the public that he was her escort. But she didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she decided to do it anyway.

Besides, the moment Erik arrived she could tell the others who he really was in her life. Now all she had to do was to think of another name for Erik; she very well couldn't introduce him as Erik, otherwise Raoul would know who he was.

Raoul felt a rush of pride as he led Christine into the grand foyer. The moment they appeared at the top of the stairs, the crowd gathered below them grew silent, although there were a few women who began whispering behind their fans.

"The Duchess of Wiltshire, Christine Juliet Daae, and the Viscount of Klondike, Raoul de Chagny," the announcer stated loudly, although they didn't need any introduction.

Christine and Raoul slowly descended the stairs. They knew the public wanted to see them clearly, so they gave the rest of the aristocrats enough time to observe them fully by walking very slowly until they reached the base of the stairs.

They were soon rushed upon by the delighted crowd. Men clamored to be introduced to the attractive duchess, while the women flirted outrageously with Raoul, fluttering their eyelashes and fans madly.

In the furor Christine was reunited with her old friends, Lucille Colbert and Georgiana Thornby, who was now Georgiana Brandt. They laughed and gave each other tight hugs.

"So you're the only one who isn't married!" Georgiana giggled. Behind her stood her strait-laced German husband who was 15 years her senior. "Who will be the lucky one? Lucille tells me you've been seeing someone other than Raoul!"

A few people glanced in their direction, but Christine ignored them. "Who told you that?"

"Raoul came to our house a few days ago. He told my husband many things," Lucille replied softly, her hand resting on the bulge of her stomach. "I didn't believe them, but apparently dear Georgiana did."

"Oh come on, you know I won't pass up a good chance for gossip!" Georgiana exclaimed, winding her arm around Christine's. "So, who is the lucky one?"

"You'll meet him," Christine replied vaguely. She couldn't believe Raoul had seen her and Erik. Now she knew why he was acting possessive lately.

_He can't touch you_, she thought. _You belong to Erik now_.

Georgiana chattered on and on as they walked to the grand ballroom, Georgiana's husband in tow. Christine checked the faces of the people she passed, hoping to see Erik's familiar features. But obviously, he still hadn't arrived.

Georgiana continued prodding her about the identity of her mysterious escort, which was intriguing since all of society in Paris had expected the duchess to bring the viscount. Well, Christine and Raoul appeared to be inseparable for almost all the major functions, and wherever Christine went, Raoul readily accompanied her.

"Hush, Georgiana," Lucille chided her friend. "Christine will tell us all in good time. Cease your frittering."

"Georgiana," Callum Brandt said in his thick German accent. "Shall we mingle with the other guests?"

"Oh you go ahead, darling," Georgiana said sweetly. "I want to stay with my childhood friends a little longer."

Callum sighed, as if he didn't want to face the task alone. Still, he bowed to the ladies and headed towards the Count of Montmartre and the woman believed to be his mistress, Gabrielle de Polignac.

"How do you stand him?" Lucille asked, frowning at Callum's retreating back. "He seems so… imposing."

Georgiana smiled. "I am not without my feminine wiles, Lucille. Perhaps you should try using them on Eugene." Her gaze dropped to her friend's belly, and she laughed. "Or not. It looks like you've worked your magic with Eugene."

"Georgiana! Don't be a prude," Lucille scolded, but the younger girl shrugged and gave Christine a sly look.

"Are you sure you won't tell us who your escort is?" she prodded for the hundredth time.

Christine glanced at Georgiana briefly before walking away. She heard her friend sputter in disbelief. Christine knew Georgiana would probably make up a story where she was rebuffed by her duchess friend. Right now Christine didn't care; she was too engrossed with keeping an eye out for Erik.

"Looking for someone?" Raoul asked, coming up behind her holding two glasses of champagne.

"Hmmm," Christine said vaguely, pretending to adjust the neckline of her gown. "If you think so."

"Did you invite someone else?" Raoul inquired, his voice tense.

Christine nodded and Raoul felt his temper rise. He knew it. Christine was looking for her lover, who would probably show up late.

_The impertinent fool_, he thought, taking care not to grip the thin stems of the champagne glasses too tightly. He was about to offer the second champagne to Christine when Eugene Colbert came up behind him and took it.

"Thanks old chap," Eugene said, grinning widely and clapping Raoul on the back. "Ah, Duchess. A pleasure to finally see you again."

"Eugene," Christine greeted, curtsying a little. "The pleasure is all mine."

Eugene stared at her for a second longer and then laid his eyes on Raoul. "Fancy costume, Raoul. Are you trying out for the army?"

Raoul shook his head. "Life is a battlefield, Eugene. I only wore what seemed best for the occasion."

Eugene chortled and downed the entire contents of the champagne glass in one go. "Well, if you wish to fight your own battles, I shall leave you to it. Lucille!"

Bowing to Christine, Eugene left and headed towards his wife. Georgiana had joined her husband, and the rest of the aristocrats all with their faces covered, were waiting for the grand performance.

Some had on extravagant masks, and there was even one noblewoman whose mask had gold sticks extending from the edges, giving the impression that she was wearing a gold waterfall of jewels. Another had opted to use lace to cover her eyes, which was transparent enough for her to see.

Christine, like Raoul, had opted to keep their faces uncovered, although they carried masks. Christine had chosen to wear a mask similar to the one Erik used, except that it only fitted over the level of her eyes.

Madame Giry suddenly appeared at the entrance of the grand ballroom and had to clap twice before the crowd stopped chattering.

"Distinguished guests and patroness, the performance shall begin shortly," she announced, and the crowd made a brisk walk towards the main hall.

Christine and Raoul were given seats of honor at Box Five, which placed them in the same box as the Count of Montmartre, the Marquis du Pont, and the Duke of Willingham. The three men greeted Christine as she approached and, like Raoul, waited for her to sit down before easing themselves in the comfortable seats.

The orchestra struck a lively tune, and a group of performers began hurtling themselves on the stage. In came little Soleil, singing an aria about childhood and the pains of having suitors breaking down the door even though she was only 8 years old.

The audience chuckled as Soleil threw down her porcelain doll and proclaimed that she would escape to a nunnery if her mother pushed another suitor her way. The scene ended and the audience clapped.

Suddenly the tone of the song changed, becoming more like a sensual ballad. Suddenly a masculine figure entered the stage, his hair slicked back, his voice strong, powerful, and unwavering. He wore a red suit that made him stand out from the sea of male aristocrats, who all wore black suits.

Erik.

The conductor stared at Erik in surprise and checked the musical score. When he realized it wasn't part of the performance, he motioned for the orchestra to stop. Still, Erik continued singing, undaunted by the lack of instruments.

Christine gasped with surprise as Erik turned towards Box Five, his gaze landing directly on her. She recognized the song as the same one he sung to her a few nights ago, and she smiled. The audience was very, very still.

"Love me, that's all I ask of you," Erik finished and looked lovingly at Christine. He gave her a covert wink before turning to the congregation. "Greetings, fellow patrons of the arts. I am Evrard, one who begs your forgiveness for arriving at such a late hour."

The aristocrats whispered madly between themselves and the Marquis stood up.

"Who do you think you are?" he asked loudly. "How dare you interrupt the performance!"

"My dear Marquis du Pont, did I? I merely added to the number of performances you will see tonight, and I dared not stop the lovely Soleil de Maupassant from singing her piece. I was hoping you all would have appreciated the song I presented," Erik said, bowing.

"I did not pay to see some commoner perform! Guards! Get him off the stage!" the Marquis roared.

Christine stood up. "Marquis! Is this how you treat guests? Evrard is here at my request. I was expecting him earlier, but like he so kindly informed you, he was late."

The Marquis and everyone else were taken aback. Christine used this opportunity to leave the box and head towards the stage. Raoul gripped the chair tightly.

_Evrard. So he's the man you've been seeing_, he said. _Finally, the foe has a face_.

Christine practically flew to the stage and walked towards Erik. She grasped his arm and he put his gloved hand over hers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Christine announced. She could sense they were all anticipating the words she would say next, and she could even see Georgiana trying hard not to appear eager. "This is Evrard, my escort."

The audience broke into excited whispers. Backstage, the performers gossiped and mulled over this new twist of events. Georgiana, Lucille, and Eugene all looked on, Raoul's words about Christine having a lover echoing through their head.

Raoul, on the other hand, had stood up and was glaring at the two from Box Five. Unable to stand the sight of Christine with another man – one who she introduced as her escort – he stalked off. The gaze of the Marquis, Count, and Duke followed Raoul as he exited the box and then returned to Christine and Erik (who they all knew as Evrard).

"Please, continue," Christine urged the players and performers, leading Erik off the stage. They had to pass the throng of performers behind the curtain who were ready to continue their performance. A few of them shook Erik's hand while others pretended to be busy checking their costumes while eyeing the two covertly.

When Christine and Erik were finally in the safety of the hallway, she turned and looked at him. "Evrard?"

"Well, it was the first name I could think of," Erik replied defensively. "Unless you would have wanted me to introduce myself as Erik. We both know the viscount is keeping an eye out for me."

"I know, I'm just surprised, that's all," she said, smiling and kissing him on the cheek. "I've missed you."

"Did you like my song? I sang it for you," he said as they walked down the hallway.

"It was beautiful, Er – I mean, Evrard," Christine praised, leaning on him as they entered Box Five. The three men inside the box stood up when they entered, and the Marquis approached Erik with his arm outstretched.

"Forgive me, Evrard," the Marquis said as he shook Erik's hand. "For calling you a commoner. It was my mistake. Duchess, please accept my sincerest apologies."

"Of course, dear Marquis," Christine assured the man, and she resumed her seat. This time, it was Erik who sat beside her. "Where is Raoul?"

"He left, Duchess," the Marquis replied, hoping to be brought back to the full favor of the duchess. "Shall I send men to look for him?"

"Oh no thank you. I'm sure dear Raoul has remembered other pressing matters. Please, let us enjoy the performance." Christine turned her gaze towards the stage, where a company of ballerinas were dancing, their costumes bright and gay.

Below them the rest of the aristocracy could hardly concentrate after that rare spectacle. Men asked their friends if they had heard of a duke, count, marquis, or a nobleman named Evrard, while the women wondered if Evrard and Christine were intimate.

"She did say he was her escort," a countess whispered.

"But what about Raoul? Poor darling," another said.

"Did you see him? Evrard looks absolutely dashing!"

"Imagine preparing a ballad for the duchess? Evrard and Christine must be intimate!"

"He looks so dreamy!"

On and on the whispers flew back and forth. Christine's friends, Lucille, Georgiana, and Eugene joined in, confirming that Evrard (Erik) was Christine's lover. This caused a stir in the audience. By the end of the performance the entire aristocracy hurried outside, hoping to be introduced to the new man in Christine's life.

"Christine, darling!" Georgiana crooned as Christine and Erik descended the staircase. Christine had her arm locked around Erik's, a fact that the crowd didn't fail to notice. "You sly girl, you! Won't you introduce to me to your escort?"

"Of course. Georgiana Brandt, this is Evrard. Evrard, Georgiana," Christine said, and Erik took Georgiana's hand and kissed it.

"A pleasure, mademoiselle," he said.

Georgiana giggled. "I am already married, kind sir. But thank you for thinking of me as a single lady."

"Forgive me." Erik straightened and looked out at the sea of eager faces. So this was what Christine experienced every time she attended important functions. The attention was overwhelming, and at times he prayed that his mask wouldn't fall. He knew that if that happened, those people would run screaming for the exits.

"Oh please, no need to apologize," Georgiana assured him. She was about to say something else, but the rest pushed past her and began fawning over Erik. Women flirted with him openly, coyly asking if they could peek behind his mask, while the men looked at him enviously.

It was nearly an hour before the crowd returned to the grand ballroom, where they spent another two hours feasting.

Raoul still hadn't returned when they started, but after the appetizers were served he arrived, looking rather flustered and red in the face.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as he took his seat beside the Marquis and the Count. "Blasted horse. I forgot that it needed to be sent to the blacksmith for new horseshoes."

"Couldn't it have waited?" the Marquis asked before taking a spoonful of mushroom soup. "It's only an animal."

"No. I'm leaving early tomorrow morning and I don't want any delays." Raoul looked over to Christine and Erik, the former silently whispering instructions in regards to the proper utensils to use. "Evrard, isn't it?"

Erik looked at him. "Yes, Viscount?"

"Nothing. I apologize for not being able to meet you earlier," Raoul said. Deep down he wanted to tear off Erik's mask and see what his rival looked like.

"Ah yes. Matters of the horse, so I heard," Erik said coolly, causing a few men to laugh. "Understandable."

"Well. Since you and my closest friend are together – correct me if I'm wrong, my good fellow – I would very much like to talk to you later," Raoul invited.

"Why not." Erik gave Raoul a half-smile and began eating. Raoul stared at Erik for a few seconds before following suit. Christine smiled, happy that the two men were getting along.

There was one person in the room, however, who seemed to think otherwise.

Halfway down the table Eugene watched this small exchange. He knew what Raoul felt about Christine's lover, and somehow he knew that the viscount was up to something.

* * *

**Author's Note: There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Unfortunately I have to leave you for sometime (holidays, plus next week is going to be horrible at work), so please forgive me if I won't be able to update this for two to three weeks at most. _ We're more than halfway through the story, and I decided that this was the perfect chapter to leave you with (for the moment). ;)**

**Feel free to leave comments, reviews, and/or reactions. You can even ask questions if there's a vague point in the fanfic. As long as the question won't spoil the ending, I'll certainly reply. Although I reply to all reviews and comments, lol. ;) Drop a line at Erik's trailer (search for "Erik Fan Trailer" on YouTube) or at the fan fic trailer (search for "The Phantom, The Duchess, and The Viscount Fan Trailer on YouTube). ;D**

**Another sneak preview of a future chapter. I'd love to hear your opinions about this possible ending, so let me know what you think. ;)**

**Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! :D**

**_

* * *

Paris, 1876_**

**_"I can see it, Papa!" Little Christine cried, jumping up from her seat to gaze at the Opera Populaire. "It's beautiful!"_**

**_Erik smiled fondly at his daughter. She was her mother in miniature except for a small birthmark on her right cheek, which was what she had inherited from his deformity. Beside him his son, Little Erik, reached for his twin sister._**

**_"Sit down, Christy!" he demanded, his voice strong and authoritative. He was like his grandfather Gustav, a duke in the making. "You'll fall out!"_**

**_"No I won't," Little Christine shot back. "Watch me."_**

**-END OF EXCERPT-**


	14. Chapter 14: Don Erik Triumphant

**Chapter Fourteen: Don Erik Triumphant**

"Evrard!" Raoul shouted amidst the babble of voices. The feast had ended, and the rest of the aristocrats were now retreating into the warm parlors. Some occupied the ballroom and were dancing to the tunes played by the orchestra.

Raoul battled his way through the swirling throng of bodies to Erik, who was sitting beside Christine. The two hadn't done a lot of socializing after the feast and had opted to retreat in a private corner of their own.

As Raoul approached he saw that the two were holding hands. His gut clenched but he ignored it. He forced a smile and turned away when Erik bent down to kiss Christine on the cheek.

"What is it, Viscount?" Erik asked. Raoul motioned for them to move away from the crowd.

"So, where did you meet Christine?" Raoul asked as they walked across the lobby. It was nearly deserted except for a few young couples who were chatting animatedly. "She never mentioned you to me."

Erik thought fast. "We met through her father. I kept up a steady correspondence with her for many years, but we only met a few weeks ago."

Raoul nodded thoughtfully. "I see. And how long have you loved her?"

"The moment I saw her, I knew. What's with all the questions, Viscount?" They were far from the crowd by now; in fact, the hallway was completely empty except for the two of them.

Raoul ignored Erik's question and continued his little interrogation. "Have you slept with her?"

The last question stunned Erik. He stopped dead in his tracks and faced the other man. "What?"

"Did you fuck her?" Raoul said frankly, glancing at the other man. "Do not deny it, I've seen the two of you."

"Never! What makes you think I would even treat her that way?" Erik was enraged, and his voice became raised. "You are a Viscount. Why would you even use such language in regards to a duchess?"

"Because I can," Raoul said simply. "Answer the question."

"I already did." Erik eyed Raoul with distaste.

"Well. Let me tell you this, then. I know what you are. You're a pathetic excuse for a suitor. Christine will see you for the man you really are: a gold digger. One who seduces a rich, innocent woman, beds her, marries her, and then leaves after he has had his way with her," Raoul declared spitefully.

Erik grabbed the front of Raoul's shirt and slammed him against the wall. Raoul was taken aback; he didn't know Erik was that strong.

"You don't know me," Erik snarled, his face inches from Raoul's. "You don't know anything. So I suggest you curb your tongue when it comes to the woman I love and show her the respect she deserves. You can call me anything you want, but when it comes to Christine, speak of her with a gentler tone."

"Or what?" Raoul choked out.

"Or you'll answer to me."

Raoul wrenched away from Erik's grasp and tried to stare him down. "I do not respond well to threats, Evrard! Why should I even respect Christine, when she lies on her back and spreads her legs for a filthy commoner like you?"

That did it.

Erik launched himself at Raoul, grabbing him in a headlock. The viscount struggled, but Erik's fury gave him more strength. He wrapped his arm tighter and tighter around Raoul's neck.

"I told you not to insult her," Erik whispered angrily. "Now you'll pay."

Before Erik could do any more damage, a hysterical voice cried out. "Stop!"

Meg grabbed on to Erik's arm and tried to wrench it away from Raoul, but it was like trying to pry an iron bar from a cement block.

"Stop it! You're killing him!" she screamed, her breasts heaving up and down as she breathed heavily.

"That's the idea," Erik told her.

"Murder! Murder!" Meg screamed.

At the same time, Erik heard his lover call his name. "Evrard! Oh God, stop! Let him go!"

Erik obeyed and Raoul dropped to the floor coughing. Soon Meg was all over the viscount, checking every inch of his body to see if he was alright. Raoul pushed her away and coughed as he stood up.

Christine latched on to Erik's arm and looked at him. "What happened?"

"He tried to murder the viscount!" Meg said dramatically, rising to her feet as well. "He should be arrested!"

"No," Christine said simply. "He will not."

A crowd had gathered; Eugene stood behind Christine and eyed Raoul. He had followed his friend and had quickly fetched Christine once he heard the things Raoul was saying about her.

Meg laughed meanly. "Don't tell me you think you're above the law, duchess! I saw it with my own eyes! That… that monster tried to kill the viscount!"

"He was merely protecting my honor." Christine held Erik's hand and squeezed it.

"Honor! You have honor?" Meg shrieked. "If you have honor, you should be more concerned with the welfare of the viscount instead of that man!"

"Enough!" Madame Giry came through the crowd and grabbed her daughter's arm. "Go to your room, Meg!"

"No I won't! You've always defended her, but never me! Why, Mother?" she screamed, much to the shock of the other guests.

Madame Giry remained calm. "Do not make me repeat myself, Meg."

With a sob and a hateful glare at Christine, Meg ran back down the hallway and out of sight. Raoul was still catching his breath and holding his throat as Christine approached him.

"I heard everything, Raoul," she said without any emotion at all. "How could you speak of me that way? I thought you were my closest friend, but it seems I was wrong."

"Christine," he began, but she cut him off.

"I love Evrard. There is nothing you can do or say to change that. But to liken me to a whore? I…" Christine's voice trailed away.

Raoul reached for her but she backed away. "I never want to see you again, Raoul."

"You're choosing him over me?" Raoul spat, refusing to believe what he was hearing. "Him? A _commoner_?"

Gasps came from the crowd as they began seeing Erik in a whole new light.

Christine raised her chin. "Yes. Now get out."

Raoul said nothing. He simply stalked off and pushed past the other aristocrats. Christine sighed; she felt limp. Erik approached her and she leaned against him for support.

Christine looked up and saw the bewildered faces of Lucille, Georgiana, and Eugene. The Masque was over.

* * *

The next day all the citizens in Paris knew of the dramatic events that had taken place at the Opera Populaire. Rumormongers even claimed that Christine had slapped Raoul and asked the guards to throw him out, while others said that the duchess had been impregnated by a mysterious commoner.

The viscount was nowhere to be found, which did nothing to quench the rumors. Some believed he had run back to England in disgrace, while others mulled over the possibility that he was planning to retaliate.

"I'm worried, Erik," Christine admitted as they walked around the opera house. "I'm afraid he might strike at you. His father had a very nasty temper, and I fear that Raoul might have inherited it."

"Don't worry, my love," Erik said soothingly. "He won't be able to touch you ever again. I won't let that happen."

Christine ran a finger down Erik's hand and sighed. "I really thought the two of you were going to get along. How deluded was I not to see otherwise?"

"He is a great pretender, that's for certain. You shouldn't put all the blame on yourself. Sometimes I think you're too kind."

"Despite everything he was still my friend for more than four years. I can't turn my back on the times he and I shared," Christine argued. "Oh but why are we fighting over him? You'll understand why I'm like this in time."

Erik shrugged. "If you say so."

They reached the parlor and went in. To their surprise they found Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin arguing with Carlotta, who looked flustered. The moment they spotted Christine and Erik, they stopped.

"Duchess!" Monsieur Firmin exclaimed, standing up. "We – we were just…"

"Talking about the next performance!" Monsieur Andre filled in quickly.

"I see," Christine said, looking at Carlotta. The woman was wringing her hands and staring at the floor. Usually Carlotta appeared snotty and had her nose held high in the air, so this scene was a bit shocking and refreshing. "Is something wrong, Carlotta?"

"No, there ees notheeng wrong!" she cried, suddenly reverting to her old self. She turned to the two owners of the opera house and wagged a finger at them. "You weell both pay for thees!"

With that, she brushed past Christine and Erik and left the parlor. Christine stared after Carlotta. "If I don't know any better, I'd say there was something fishy going on with her," she murmured.

"Duchess! Is there anything we can do?" Monsieur Firmin asked, trying to keep his tone gay as possible to avoid any suspicion. The news Carlotta brought upon him and his colleague had shaken them both to their very core, but they were determined not to add to the gossip rags that were sweeping across Paris.

The scandal of the duchess falling in love with a commoner was enough, and if society knew about their own story, well… the Opera Populaire would experience a field day as reporters would gather around the entrances demanding for statements.

That was what those pesky reporters were doing right now, hence the need for Christine and Erik to remain indoors. Monsieur Andre and Firmin didn't want public humiliation, so they told Carlotta flat out they wouldn't agree to her terms.

As expected, the woman flew into a fury and threatened to leave the opera if they didn't, which they both responded: "Do as you like, Madame. We won't stop you."

Carlotta had then crumbled, saying she had nowhere else to go and she needed their help. They had refused shortly before Christine and Erik walked in. Now they tried to make light of the situation by offering to serve them tea and tasty cakes.

"No thank you, monsieurs," Christine refused graciously. "Evrard and I only wish to spend some time by the fireplace."

The two monsieurs looked at each other and then nodded.

"As you wish, my lady," Monsieur Andre said as he and Monsieur Firmin bowed. They closed the door to the parlor behind them and retreated to the safety of their study.

Once they were gone, Christine led Erik to the loveseat near the fireplace. The embers were low but the heat was enough to warm them from the chilly winds. As soon as Erik was seated Christine wrapped herself in his arms.

At first they said nothing; Raoul's constant absence was both troubling them. Finally Erik broke the ice by asking Christine what her plans were.

"What do you mean?" Christine said, frowning. "I only plan to stay here with you."

Erik smiled. "Yes, I know, but do you plan on going back to Wiltshire? Its duchess cannot stay away for very long. Tongues will wag."

"They always do," she murmured. "But why can't I be the Duchess of Wiltshire here with you? I know you wouldn't want to leave Paris because of me; besides, all the happy memories we have were made inside the four walls of the opera house."

"Who said I wouldn't agree to go with you to England?" Erik asked, surprised. "I would do anything for you, Chrissy."

Christine sat up and turned around to face him. "You… you would go with me to England?"

"My love, I would go to the very depths of Hell if you asked me to," Erik replied passionately, pulling her close to him again. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Christine kissed him. Her heart overflowed with love and passion for this man, the man who was once her closest childhood friend. She couldn't believe the way things were going, and yet she didn't regret anything.

When they pulled apart they were both breathless.

"Erik," she whispered huskily, tracing her finger down his mask, "I love you."

He chuckled. "I know that too. All I have to do is look into your eyes to know."

"And you'll always hear me say it," she said. Christine placed his hand on her chest, where he could feel her heart beat rapidly under his palm. "This, and everything about me, is yours."

"Why Christine," he said, his mouth forming a teasing grin. "I do believe we're turning into a pair of sentimental lovers."

Christine laughed. "I know. I just… there's so much emotion within me that I need to let out."

"Like you want to shout to the world you love me?" Erik asked, his eyes glittering.

"Yes. Something like that." Christine smiled. "Come with me to England?"

Erik nodded once. "Just say the word and I'll be by your side."

Christine smiled and retreated again into the warmth of Erik's embrace. Her life couldn't get any better than this.

* * *

In the deep recesses of the opera house two naked people, a man and a woman, moaned and groaned softly as they explored every inch of their partner's body. The woman was lying on a fur blanket that was used for one of the previous plays and the man strained to push himself more and more into her. Sweat trickled down both their bodies and it was obvious that they had been at it for some time.

"More," the woman begged, her face covered by a mop of hair. "Please!"

Raoul groaned and released his seed deep inside her. They had been making love for more than a day and he still needed more. He needed more to forget everything that had happened at the Masque.

Beneath him the woman squirmed slightly, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. She pushed the hair away from her face and looked at him.

Meg.

The sight of her bare breasts made Raoul's manhood stir once more, and she laughed. "Again?" she asked coyly. "Why have you been holding out on me, Viscount?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when he attacked her again, this time more savagely. Meg writhed in pleasure as he stabbed her again and again, her cries becoming louder with each thrust.

She couldn't believe that he had come to her room and invited her to spend the entire day with him. As he led her deeper into the opera house, she knew what he had planned. Frankly, she wanted him to take her. Meg didn't care if he came to her every night, as long as he was hers.

_If I get pregnant by him, then there is nothing holding him back from marrying him_, she had mused. Meg was stunned at how much sex he needed.

_He must be bursting_, she thought when they made love for the second time. _Poor fool. You had a sexual stud by your side and you didn't even take advantage of it. But I will. I shall drain him of every drop and take pleasure and delight in it_.

Done. Raoul rolled off Meg and lay on the floor, his breath short and labored. He was spent, his seed practically overflowing between Meg's thighs. Now she had what she wanted, and he could return to Christine.

Raoul closed his eyes and ignored Meg's questions as to whether they would meet again. As she chattered on about deceiving her mother and even Christine, he thought of the lovely duchess who had been swept away by an amorous peasant.

London society must be in an uproar. One of the king's closest kin had fallen in love with a commoner. It was shocking and gratifying at the same time. Raoul didn't know whether to laugh or to vent out his rage.

"Raoul," Meg purred.

_The little bitch wants more_, he realized. Raoul was utterly tired, so he rebuked her. This seemed to strike a nerve, because Meg whacked him on the back of his head.

"How dare you!" she hissed.

"Not now, I'm tired. Go away or run to your mother, wench," he muttered.

He could imagine Meg's eyes bulge out of their sockets as she screeched profanities in his ear. Raoul knew how to block out unwanted sounds; he had been doing so at the endless societal parties he had been going to for all of his life. It was very easy for him to shut a slutty girl out.

Meg had stood and was gathering her clothes.

"You'll come back to me, Raoul," she snarled as she draped her corset around her torso. "Whenever that little brat rebukes you, you'll come back to me."

"And you just confirmed my suspicions. You are a slut," Raoul retorted, his back still facing her.

Meg cursed him loudly and stomped off. He could hear her hissing insults about him, but he smiled. He knew now that he had a rather profound effect on her; she would willingly bend over and let him have his way with her if he asked again.

Raoul didn't know how long he lay there, but he knew that he was surely being missed. Finally he put on his clothes and fixed himself in front of a cracked mirror before finally heading to his room. A familiar laugh caused him to stop in his tracks.

Christine. She and her lover, the commoner Evrard, were breathing on the glass window panes and drawing on the steam that formed. He saw the outline of a heart, with the letters "C" and "E" in the middle. His lip curled and he had to use every ounce of self control not to lunge at the man.

Even if he was able to subdue Evrard, Raoul knew he was no match for him in terms of brute strength. Muscles clung tightly to the sleeves of Evrard's shirt, and his hands were large and powerful.

Raoul knew that if he wanted to defeat Evrard, he would have to find another way.

_Enjoy your happiness while you still can_, he thought as he went quietly up the steps. _I'll make sure that Christine will be mine, to hell with the consequences_.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! :D I hope you had a fun Christmas and New Year as I did, but I certainly missed writing about Cherik. xD I hope you guys like the chapter title; it's my favourite of the lot. :))**

**Anywhoos, have any of you seen "Reign of Fire"? :D Gerry had a sad ending in it, but he was soooo... hot. Hotter than the dragons! x)) **

**Pen down your thoughts, comments, questions, reactions, and suggestions on the review box below; I'll certainly reply! :D **

**Chapter Updates: Meg discovers Evrard's true identity (the pesky brat) and threatens to reveal it to the world. Christine leaves the opera - and Erik. Stay tuned. :)**


	15. Chapter 15: An Old Rivalry, Old Wounds

**Chapter Fifteen: An Old Rivalry, Old Wounds**

**Meg tossed and turned in bed. She was having another fitful dream, one where she was being engulfed by a pair of smelly, scrawny arms. She screamed, her arms flailing wildly as she attempted to knock the attacker away from her.**

"**You'll never be like her," the figure – a young boy – snarled, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. A sudden searing pain shot up her neck; he had bitten her. She heard his cry of delight as he relished the flow of her blood on her lips.**

"**Get away!" she screeched, finally pushing him away from her. As he flopped on the ground, Meg was able to get a good look at him. All she saw was a familiar grubby brown sack and a pair of intense eyes that were visible through the eyeholes. "You!"**

**The boy grinned, her blood running down his mouth and onto his naked chest. "Me. I told you you would never hurt her, witch. I'll kill you before you lay a hand on her."**

"**I don't know what you're talking about!" Meg screamed, but soon as the words left her mouth she whispered: "Christine."**

"**You do know!" the boy yelled triumphantly, leaping to his feet and jeering at her. "You know! Now that you do, stay away from her. If you hurt her again, a tragedy beyond your imagination will occur!"**

"**How dare you threaten me!" Meg shot back, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she breathed hard. "Who are you that you should say such things?"**

**The boy smiled, and all Meg could see were his blood-stained teeth. "You know me, Meg. You know who I am. I am in her past, her present, and her future. But you… you will fade away, Meg Giry. People may see you as the daughter of Madame Giry, but you will grow old alone and unknown. But she will live on forever, beloved by those who know her."**

"**Enough!" Meg screamed, clapping her hands on her ears. "I will hear no more!"**

**The boy laughed cruelly, and before Meg's eyes he transformed into Evrard. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back. "You!"**

"**Meg… Meg…" he chanted ominously, his face forming an evil grin. "I promise you, Meg Giry, touch a single hair of her head again and I will kill you with my bare hands."**

"**No, no!" Meg slammed on a rough concrete wall, and she felt the uneven surface cut onto her skin. "Stay away!"**

"**This is my last warning, Meg Giry," Evrard said, his tone cold and menacing. "Break it, and nothing will keep you from my wrath."**

"No!"

Meg sat up in bed, sweat running down her forehead. She frantically surveyed the entire room but saw no one, only her mother sleeping peacefully in the bed on the other side of the room. Meg lay down, visibly shaken.

Thoughts raced through her head as she tried to piece the nightmare from her mind. The boy in her dream was the same one she had seen in the opera house many years ago; Christine's playmate. The boy who had thrown the contents in her mother's sewing box in her face.

"Evrard," Meg whispered, finally realizing who Christine's mysterious suitor was. Instead of diving deeper under the covers, Meg smiled. "Now I know how to bring you down, duchess. Now I know."

* * *

"Erik, stop!" Christine giggled, and she raised her hands in front of her face to shield herself. "That's not fair!"

Erik laughed and gathered as much snow as he could and threw it over Christine's head, showering her with it. "What? I'm not doing anything," he pointed out, but a split second later, a snowball smacked him in the face.

"Hah!" Christine cried triumphantly, but her triumph was cut short when Erik rushed at her and lifted her onto his shoulders. "Erik, what are you doing? Oh put me down!"

"Why? It's not like we're in public," Erik said, swinging her and taking her in his arms, so that he was carrying her in a lover's embrace. "Nobody can see us."

"You… you… just put me down!" Christine demanded, but she was smiling. As Erik made a move to set her down on the ground, she stopped him. "Wait."

Erik stood still as she brushed the snow off his face. "There. You look better without snow covering you."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her, but she buried her face on his shoulder instead. "So, should I put you down?"

She shook her head. "No," she replied, her voice slightly muffled.

"Does this mean I can kidnap you and bring you to a beautiful remote island where we would make an entire city of children?" Erik teased, causing Christine to lift her head and smack him smartly on the back.

"An entire city? Do you know how many pregnancies I would have to endure?" she chided him. "Giving birth is no mean feat, Erik!"

"I know, but I'll make sure that the… uh, initial stages are very pleasurable," he told her with a wicked glint in his eye.

Christine raised her eyebrows as Erik winked at her. "You're not exactly humble, are you?" she said as he carried her back inside the opera house. His feet thudded heavily on the floor, but he never took his gaze off of her.

"Why should I be ashamed of my many talents?" he said, grinning again. "I know what I am capable of when I'm around you."

"And what exactly are you capable of?" she asked as he flicked open the door to her room.

"Oh I don't know, keeping you safe and happy, perhaps?" he replied, walking over to her bed and placing her gently on the mattress.

Christine sat up immediately and held his hand, simultaneously pulling him beside her. "Don't go."

"Can't I take my shoes off?" he asked, smiling as he took his shoes off. He did so with great impatience that when his left foot refused to slide out, he gave an exasperated grunt and began attacking the leather.

"Erik, you don't have to be in a hurry." Christine ran her hand up and down his arm, but she silently wished he would finish so that he could hold her in his arms again. It was only a few seconds but she already missed him.

"Done," Erik announced, finally pulling the offensive shoe off and throwing it on the floor. He probably saw her yearning for him in her expression because he quickly wrapped his arms around her. "So, are we going to stay in here until it is time for dinner?"

Christine hesitated. There was something that she wanted to ask him, but she thought it was too bold for a woman to ask a man. But she knew Erik would understand. "Erik, how do you know when… when it's time for two people to make love?"

Erik froze. "I don't really know, Chrissy," he admitted.

"They say a couple should wait until they are married, but I know I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you," Christine added. "I feel ready for it, Erik."

"Chrissy…" Erik began, but Christine laid her finger on his lips.

"I'm not saying we should do it now, but I just wanted you to know that if you felt ready, we could," she said, smiling.

Erik nodded. "I understand. We should wait for the best possible moment before actually doing it. It must be…"

"Special."

* * *

Christine hummed as she brushed her hair. As she watched herself in the mirror she could see that she had a wide smile and her eyes were sparkling. She felt glorious.

Yesterday was perfect: she and Erik spent the entire day together without being interrupted. Today she found a fresh bouquet of white roses on her dresser, each tied with a ribbon that bore their initials.

Christine could feel that this was the start of another perfect day, and she couldn't wait to see Erik again. They were probably going out; Erik had told her that he wanted her to see the other sights in Paris and not just the opera house.

"Could we visit my mother?" she had asked last night.

"Of course, my love," he replied, smiling. He had then brushed a lock of her hair away from her face and had kissed her passionately.

She set the brush down on her dresser and immediately headed out onto the hallway. The rest of the performers were already inside the performance hall; Christine could hear the orchestra tuning up using the first strings of an aria from Lucia de Lamermoor.

"Christine." Meg's voice came from behind her. Christine turned and saw Meg in a simple black dress with the usual plunging neckline.

"Good morning, Meg," Christine greeted. Meg rolled her eyes.

"Where is Erik?"

Meg's last statement stunned her, and it was a few minutes before she could speak. "Wh - what?"

"Oh please. Don't play coy with me, duchess," Meg spat, her lip curling. "I know who this so-called Evrard is: he's the filthy boy you used to play with when you were younger! The boy who played those mean pranks on me all these years!"

"No, he isn't," Christine insisted, her gaze meeting Meg's unflinchingly. "Why do you care so much about my Evrard?"

"I don't. What I do care about is the way he treats the viscount." Meg crossed her arms. "I can't believe you exchanged the viscount's love with that of a commoner. You're dumber than I thought."

"Say whatever you like, Meg, but I love Evrard," Christine said levelly. "I even doubt that the love you say you feel for Raoul is really authentic."

"Oh no?"

"No. You're full of spite and hatred, Meg Giry, that I don't even think you know the meaning of the word 'love'! For all I know you're just using Raoul to advance in society!" Christine declared, raising her chin.

Meg sputtered in disbelief and raised her hand to slap Christine. She failed, however, as Erik quickly grabbed her hand and pushed her to the floor.

"Lay a hand on her again and I'll do more than push you to the ground," he threatened, his voice menacing. Erik's eyes bore deep into Meg's, who flinched at the intensity of his gaze.

"Evrard, let's go," Christine said hurriedly, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. Erik glared at Meg one last time before allowing Christine to lead him outside.

Meg slapped the marble floor with her hands and ignored the spasms of pain that shot up her arms. She just knew that Evrard was really Erik, but how could she prove it? He never seemed to stay long in the opera house; perhaps he was staying somewhere nearby?

Impossible. The only times she saw him was when Christine was leading him out or into her room. That means…

"A secret passageway," Meg whispered, her face lighting up. "All I have to do is to see where he goes and then follow him."

She knew that she had to hide somewhere in Christine's room, and she knew just the place: the closet that was built into the wall. Meg knew Christine didn't use it, and she believed that she could squeeze in just fine.

Meg glanced at Christine and Evrard's retreating backs and flounced away. She hoped Raoul would visit her again – she needed some comfort.

"So she knows?" Erik asked, his face smooth and unreadable. His eyes, however, seemed to darken, and Christine hoped he wasn't planning to do anything drastic.

"She suspects, yes," Christine replied, placing one hand on top of Erik's leg. The carriage bounced a little, causing Erik to grip the side of the door tightly. "What if she finds out? Everyone will know who you are and you won't know a moment's peace!"

"Hush. Whatever comes, we'll deal with it." Erik wound his arm around Christine's waist and pulled her close. She could still sense the tension in the carriage, and in an effort to change the atmosphere she kissed him lightly on the lips.

It worked. Erik smiled down at her and she snuggled deeper into his arms. She felt him bury his face in her hair and they spent majority of the ride wrapped in each others' arms. Christine watched as the buildings flew by, only to be replaced by clusters of trees that formed a thick canopy.

Some of the trees had gnarled branches, and Christine felt that they were reaching out to her with sharp tips. She could almost feel the sharpness on her skin and she flinched.

"What's wrong?"

Erik was looking at her, his face scrunched up with concern. She shook her head and smiled, squeezing his hand.

"It's nothing, Erik," she assured him. "I was only thinking of something."

He nodded. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, it's trivial." Christine closed her eyes and savored the feel of his body next to hers. His strong, powerful arms were hidden by the folds of his cape, while the tight muscles of his thighs were obvious through his trousers. She couldn't believe that she was thinking of him in a very lustful way.

Then again, she was deeply in love with him, physical defects be damned. Anyone who looked at Erik with his mask covering the deformed half of his face would say that he was devilishly handsome. It was only after he removed his mask when the screams began.

But she didn't care. She loved him for who he was, and what he made her feel when they were together. Because of Erik, she was able to mend the rift between her and her father before it got out of hand. Because of him, her childhood had been happier, a far cry from the little girl who was likened to a loose cannon.

He did so much for her without asking anything in return. Christine felt that she was willing to spend the rest of her life with him, this man who was so unlike the snobby and self-centered aristocrats she knew.

Raoul.

His name popped up in her mind so suddenly that her eyes flew open, expecting to see him sitting across from her. But he wasn't. He was probably out with Eugene, spewing more lies and venting his spleen out on anyone.

Right now she didn't care what he was doing. What mattered was that she was here with the man she loved. The carriage lurched to a stop, and she knew they had arrived.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I am really sorry for being out of the loop for ages! :| Anyway, here's the 15th chapter of the story; from here, everything goes uphill or downhill for our two lovebirds. To those who have considered my story as one of their favorites, THANK YOU! And for those who have set up alerts, THANK YOU! Lol. **

**Only 10 more chapters before we say good bye to Christine and Erik. Or is it really good bye? Hmm. :)**

**Would love to hear your thoughts. Spill! :))**


	16. Chapter 16: A Secret Engagement

**Chapter Sixteen: A Secret Engagement**

As the carriage made its way to the graveyard, Erik tried not to sit too stiffly or look too tense. It has been years since he last left the Opera Populaire, and he wasn't used to riding a carriage or see the buildings fly past. But he suspected that his nerves weren't due to his unfamiliarity with the world outside the opera house, but rather, because of the woman sitting next to him.

Christine.

He loved her truly and deeply, and he still couldn't believe that a grotesque being like him was able to capture the affections of such a beautiful woman. No matter how many times he told himself that they were in love, a part of him still thought this was all a dream.

Erik breathed slowly, taking in the subtle scent of her perfume and savoured the feeling of her hair on his hand.

When the carriage stopped in front of the wrought iron gates, Erik looked at Christine, who was now staring at the graveyard apprehensively. Her eyes flicked over to him and he squeezed her hand gently and in a reassuring way.

"I'm nervous, Erik," she whispered. She looked so vulnerable that Erik couldn't help but lean forward and kiss her on the cheek.

"It will be alright. You haven't seen your mother in a long time," he reminded her.

"Exactly! I don't know what to say to her." Christine trembled and snuggled even deeper into his arms. She sounded like a little girl just then.

"Come. I'll be with you every step of the way," Erik said reassuringly. He pulled away from her and opened the door to the carriage, stepping down as he did so. Christine followed slowly.

"The flowers, good sir," Erik called out, and the driver handed him a wreath of white roses, his face never leaving the road.

Erik handed the wreath to Christine, who took a deep breath as if to calm her nerves. Finally, she looked at him, nodded, and they walked to the gate.

"We'll be out in a few minutes," Erik told the driver from over his shoulder. The driver nodded, his heavy black cloak covering his face. The driver clicked the reins and urged the horses forward. The steady clip clop of the horse's hooves on the rich soil soon grew faint, and Erik turned towards his companion.

Christine was already standing inside the graveyard, her hand fingering a loose petal absent-mindedly. Erik walked up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Oh yes. I was just... thinking," Christine said, smiling thinly.

"About what?"

"What to say to my mother."

Erik chuckled softly. "Christine, you shouldn't think about what to tell her. Just imagine that she's right there. Talk to her the way you talk to me."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Erik realized it could be taken out of context. Thankfully Christine was too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice. After a few seconds she nodded, this time more determinedly.

"Let's go," she told him, taking his hand in hers. It felt cold, but Erik didn't flinch.

They walked past crumbling headstones and a few statues of praying angels. Christine tried hard not to shiver; she could feel the cold seeping down to her very bones.

As always, Erik sensed her discomfort and wrapped his cape around her.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Erik placed a protective arm around her shoulders. Finally they reached the mausoleum, which was easily the largest structure in the graveyard.

Etched on a black granite slab a few inches from the roof was the name DAAE. After a moment's hesitation, Christine walked up the steps and pushed the door open. Per her father's orders, the mausoleum was kept unlocked, but a caretaker was sent there once every month to check on the status of the tomb – and its occupant.

So far there were no reports of vandals defiling the mausoleum, and Christine was grateful.

The inside of the mausoleum was no warmer than the graveyard. Erik's footsteps echoed in the mausoleum as he made his way towards Charlotte Daae's final resting place.

Christine was staring down at the thick marble slab that covered her mother's coffin and she exhaled loudly. "Mother."

Erik placed his hand on her shoulder, offering Christine silent encouragement. She took a deep breath and leaned the wreath against the marble slab.

"Mother, this is Erik. But of course you already knew that," she began. "I know I haven't been visiting you these past few years; I suppose that's one thing you and Erik have in common."

Christine stopped, unsure of what to say. She looked at Erik, who smiled. "Hello, Madame. You'll be pleased to know that your daughter has grown up to be a fine young lady. She may be a bit feisty at times, but she generally has a good heart. But of course you already knew that."

Christine laughed softly; Erik's little speech gave her more confidence. "You can see why I fell in love with him, Mother. In some ways he reminds me of Papa."

Christine continued; she told her mother all the things she did when she was young, from the moment she met Erik, those summer days she spent in England with her father before he died, her friends Lucille and Georgiana, and the time she knew that she loved Erik.

Erik didn't fail to notice that Christine left Raoul out; it was obvious that the things the viscount had said about her hurt her deeply.

_I'm not surprised_, he thought. _He has definitely gone too far. If Meg hadn't interrupted, I would have probably killed the viscount._

While Erik was absorbed in his thoughts, Christine knelt to the ground, ignoring the cold that shot through her knees. "And I know we were friends for years, but the way he talked about me...it was as if I was a mere accessory. I don't think I can ever forgive him for what he has done to me and Erik. Papa has taught me to forgive, but it seems my heart cannot bring myself to do so. I hope you would not be disappointed with me, Mother. If only he could just accept Erik, everything would be fine."

Christine paused as a lone tear slid down her cheek. Memories of her and Raoul flitted through her mind, with one particular memory standing out.

* * *

"_Have another, Christine?"_

_Twelve year old Christine looked up from the book she was reading and smiled. "No thank you, Raoul. I've had enough for today."_

"_Oh come on," Raoul coaxed, shaking the tin of carved chocolates. "I saved you the plump white chocolates. I know you like them."_

_Christine eyed him from the cover of her book and frowned. "Stop tempting me, Raoul. You know I can't eat another piece."_

"_Very well." Raoul sighed and placed the tin of chocolates on the side table. _

_They were inside the library in the Daae estate in Wiltshire; the Duke, Christine's father, was upstairs fiddling with his violin. Apparently during one of his vigorous lessons he broke a string, and was currently talking with his butler and manservant, Medvin, as to how to mend "the blasted thing"._

_After a few minutes of silence Raoul spoke. "Do you think your father has fixed his violin yet?"_

"_I don't think so. If he has, we'd hear him play," Christine replied as she turned the page._

"_What are you reading? I've been seeing that book for days now," Raoul said, standing up from the armchair and walking over to where Christine was sitting on the plush carpet._

_Christine glanced at the title before resuming her reading. "'Dark Stories of the North'. It's actually a very good book."_

"_I'm sure it is," Raoul replied absent-mindedly. He began to say something else, but he was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a violin being tuned. "There he goes again."_

_Christine laughed. "Yes, he's finally fixed it. Now he has something to keep him busy."_

"_Why? Has he tired of having tea with Father?" Raoul teased._

"_Yes, as a matter of fact he has." Christine grinned at him mischievously and he chuckled. "He said if your father ever offered him another crumpet, he'd throw up."_

"_Sorry. Father adores his crumpets. It's the only thing he can make by himself," Raoul apologized. _

"_That's fine. Papa prides on being talented at playing the violin," Christine said. She marked her place in the book using a colourful ribbon and closed her book. "Come. I know Papa would love to have some chocolate."_

_Raoul nodded and followed her out of the library, snatching the tin of chocolates as he passed the side table. He was only too glad to get out of that room. Frankly he didn't understand why some people could spend most of their time shut up in a musty and smelly room._

_That didn't mean he thought that the Daae's library was musty and smelly; no, Raoul just preferred being outdoors or in his fencing room. _

_Christine walked lightly up the grand staircase, and although Raoul was the son of a nobleman, he couldn't help but be in awe of the crystal chandelier, the smooth marble steps, the rich tapestries, and the portraits of the Daae family members that hung on the walls._

_They reached the landing and Christine made her way to her father's room. She knocked, and the deep, baritone voice of Gustav Daae said: "Come in."_

_Christine immediately ran to her father, who enveloped her in a hug. "Papa!"_

"_Dearest Christine," Gustav said, smiling fondly at his daughter as she pulled away. "Ah, Raoul de Chagny. I see you've arrived."_

"_He's been here for hours, Papa," Christine told him, an amused look on her face._

_Gustav was surprised. "He has? I've been up here long."_

_Christine giggled and Raoul smiled. It wasn't hard to feel at ease with Christine and her father. Raoul understood why his father, Armand de Chagny, easily succumbed to their charms._

"_Shall you play for us, my Lord?" Raoul asked, settling himself on the nearest armchair. _

_Gustav smiled widely, and Raoul knew he had said the right thing. The Duke lifted the violin and bow, and after resting the violin on the crook of his neck and shoulders, he began to play._

_Sweet sounding music filled the air, and Raoul's earlier doubts that the duke could play a single note, much less a piece from Aida, vanished._

_The Duke of Wiltshire could play, and Raoul smiled. It wasn't his political or gentlemanly smile, but a genuine one that made his eyes brighten. Christine noticed this, and she laughed softly._

"_You seem to be enjoying yourself," she whispered. _

"_Who wouldn't? Your father plays excellently," he whispered back. "I thought he was good, but I didn't know he was that good."_

"_You doubted his ability?" Christine's eyes were bright, and Raoul fought back the urge to kiss her._

"_Not at all. I merely downplayed it a bit," Raoul replied quickly._

_Christine smiled and turned to watch her father play. After he was finished she clapped her hands and kissed him on the cheek. "That was wonderful, Papa. Raoul thought you are a very talented violinist."_

"_Did he now?" The Duke fixed his gaze on Raoul, who nodded. "Touching. It appears that young de Chagny has an ear for good music."_

_Raoul shook his head and remained silent, his diplomatic smile back in place. Christine noticed this and the corners of her mouth turned down slightly. She never did see anything other than his polite, aristocratic smile, until a few minutes ago. She was glad he decided to relax and forget that he was a nobleman, but apparently that didn't last long._

_Involuntarily Christine's mind wandered back to that young boy she used to play with in the Opera Populaire._

I wonder if he's still there_, she mused. _Hopefully Papa and I can visit soon.

" – _sure she has a lovely singing voice herself," she heard her father say. _

_Christine looked at him and smiled, pretending that she had been listening to him for the past few minutes. "Oh Papa, I never sing. I don't have the talent."_

_The Duke made a derisive noise. "Preposterous. I'm certain you can sing if you wanted. But come, let us continue this discussion in the warmth of the parlour."_

_Christine took her father's hand, noting how strong and powerful it felt as it covered her small hand. Raoul followed, and somehow Christine felt his gaze linger on her, never leaving until they reached the parlour._

* * *

Erik knelt beside Christine, taking her into his powerful embrace as her body became racked with silent sobs. He didn't know what she was thinking, only that he knew that he needed to comfort her.

The rough covering of the small box dug into his leg, and he considered if this was the best place for him to show it to her.

_A mausoleum isn't the most romantic of places_, he told himself. As Christine stared at her mother's tombstone she leaned her head against his shoulder. The weight of her body and her intoxicating scent made Erik feel alive. He wanted to protect this woman, give her everything she desired.

Of course he didn't have the money to get her the best gifts in Paris, but he had the knowledge of a sculptor, a painter, a jeweller, a tailor, and much more. Having access to the sewers proved to be a great advantage.

Words could not describe the love he felt for Christine, that on impulse, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. "Christine, there's something I need to say."

Christine looked up at him, her eyes moist. "What is it Erik?"

As she pulled away from him, he held the box in his palm. She gave a small gasp, and one hand flew to her mouth, covering her lips slightly. "Is that.."

"A ring? Yes," Erik said, lifting the cover. Inside was a silver ring with a small blue crystal in the center. He was able to get the crystal from one of the costumes of the performers in the opera a few years ago and had decided to save it for a gift for Christine. He didn't imagine it would be used as his _engagement_ ring to her, however.

But there it was.

"Erik," Christine began, but Erik took her hand and looked at her.

"Christine, I know I'm not as wealthy as the viscount, nor am I physically whole as most people would wish me to be. I don't have a large mansion, an army of servants to cater to our every whim, or carriages to take us to the fanciest stores and restaurants. All I have is this ring, which I made with my own two hands, and my undying love for you. I cannot imagine spending my life without you by my side. I've loved you the moment we met, and I will continue to do so until the end. Christine Juliet Daae, will you - "

"Yes," Christine whispered, interrupting his small monologue and stopping him cold. "Yes, Erik, I will."

For a few seconds Erik didn't speak. Finally he gave a joyous shout and embraced Christine, who was now crying with happiness. They pulled apart only to give Erik the chance to slip the ring on Christine's finger.

Christine reached up and laid her hand on Erik's cheek, and he looked at her. "Erik," Christine said, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't care if you're poor, I don't care if other people don't see you as attractive. I fell in love with you, the man standing in front of me this very moment. As long as I have you and your love, then I am the happiest girl in the world."

Erik smiled, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Instead he bent down and kissed her, which she returned with such passion that shocked the both of them. When they broke apart, they were both breathless.

Erik and Christine remained in each others' arms, content to feel their lover's body against their own.

Finally Christine whirled around and faced her mother's tombstone. "Erik and I are engaged, Mother! Oh I know you saw and heard everything, but I just wanted to tell you myself! I know you and Papa approve."

Erik wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek, and Christine felt extremely happy and content. Life was perfect.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the uber long wait! I've been very busy these past few months! Hopefully you haven't forgotten about this story. I certainly haven't. :) **


	17. Chapter 17: Battle in the Graveyard

**Chapter Seventeen: Battle in the Graveyard**

As Christine and Erik exited the mausoleum hand in hand, Erik felt at once that something was wrong. He surveyed the graveyard, his eyes seeking that unseen foe whose gaze bore deep into his body.

On instinct he stepped in front of Christine, shielding her tiny form with his massive one.

"Erik? What's wrong?" he heard her ask. Before he could reply a hellish scream erupted and Raoul de Chagny launched himself at the couple, his sword unsheathed.

Christine gasped as Erik pushed her to the side, drawing his own sword as well. Erik deftly blocked Raoul's sword thrust and retaliated with a quick jab of his own.

"She's mine," Raoul hissed, rage filling his eyes. "I will not allow some commoner like you take her away from me."

"Raoul, stop!" Christine made a move to run towards the two men, but Erik shot her a warning glance and she stopped in her tracks.

With an impressive show of strength, Erik shoved Raoul away with his sword, and then leaped after his rival. Raoul showered him with a slew of curses, but Erik silently countered each and every sword thrust.

Erik's quiet demeanour infuriated Raoul all the more, and his attacks became more frantic yet calculated. The men fought past rows of graves and tombstones, neither showing any signs of fatigue. In fact, the longer they fought their blows became stronger, and at times Christine saw Erik smiling, as if he found the fight highly amusing.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she maintained a safe distance from the men while voicing her frantic protests, which were ignored. Once or twice she saw Raoul cast a determined glance at her as if saying that he would have her, even if he had to kill Erik to do so.

"What happened to your so-called talent, Viscount?" Erik finally said, after knocking Raoul back a second time. "I was expecting more from you."

"Oh I'm barely getting started," Raoul retorted, dealing a rather vicious sword thrust. Erik, who had been expecting the viscount to be aiming for his heart, miscalculated. Raoul's sword sliced across Erik's left leg, causing the older man to stumble.

"Erik!" Christine cried, but a second later she saw him stand and face Raoul determinedly.

"It'll take more than that to stop me, Viscount," Erik seethed, and he advanced. Despite the blood trickling from the scratch on his leg, Erik clashed swords with Raoul once more.

Apparently Raoul wasn't used to fighting a wounded opponent – he had surmised that the wound he had dealt Erik was deep enough – because he seemed to falter slightly. Erik used it to his advantage to strike Raoul hard.

"Ummmph!" Raoul grunted as he hit the snowy ground. He glared up at his rival and his hand groped madly for his sword. His hand felt nothing but snow, but he didn't dare remove his gaze from Erik, whose expression had turned deadly.

Raoul never expressed fear in his life, and he certainly wasn't going to do so now; especially in the face of his most hated rival. Despite the frantic pounding of his heart he pushed back his fear and concentrated on getting out of this mess.

Erik crouched slightly so that the tip of his sword brushed Raoul's jugular. The viscount stilled and his breathing became shallow. He could tell the nobleman was trying desperately to rein in his fear, but Erik could sense that Raoul was frightened.

The very thought that he could cause fear in the viscount caused Erik to smile, and he made a slight slicing motion.

"One false move and I shall slit your throat," Erik said ominously, his expression growing serious. "I have told you time and again that Christine and I love each other. I shall protect her by any means necessary, and if our happiness shall come at the price of your death, then I shall gladly pay it."

"Try," Raoul spat. "You shall be hanged because of this."

"Not if I'm not caught," Erik replied, and Raoul's blood ran cold. What the freak said was true; it was only the three of them in the graveyard. Raoul silently chastised himself for not bringing Eugene along as witness, but he wouldn't have gotten away in his disguise if he did.

The black cloak had barely covered his face, and it wouldn't have been able to conceal the bulky form of Eugene.

"Erik, stop," Christine said, coming up behind his rival. She placed her hand lightly on Erik's arm and looked at his eyes. "He isn't worth it. I won't lose you because of him."

Raoul noticed how she stressed the word "him", and it brought a dull ache to his heart. The commoner stole what was rightfully his.

_No matter. I shall kill that fiend and Christine will be mine_, Raoul thought.

His fingers brushed the handle of his sword and he fought back a grin. Quick as lightning, Raoul jumped to his feet and attacked; since Erik was focused on Christine, Raoul had no trouble sinking the blade deep into his rival's side.

"Raoul, no!" Christine screamed, watching her lover fall to the ground, his hands clasped at the huge gash on his side. Erik's sword was lying beside him, and he made a mad grab for it.

Raoul stepped forward and prepared to deal the deathly blow. Before he could do so however, Christine blocked his path, her eyes fierce.

"Touch him and I'll kill you," she threatened.

Raoul hesitated. Christine no longer looked sweet and innocent; her steely gaze reminded him of her late father, while her body was tense.

"He has stolen you from me, Christine," Raoul said, jabbing his sword in the direction of Erik. "Let me get rid of him and we can be to-"

"No! He has never stolen me from you, because I never belonged to you in the first place!" she shrieked. "I have never loved you, and if you dare lay a hand on him again, I shall kill you myself!"

"Christine –"

"No! You say you love me Raoul, but is this how you show your love? By taking away the only person who has given me back my heart and soul? _You're_ the real monster, Raoul." Christine raised her head and glared at Raoul, as if daring him to come closer.

Raoul couldn't believe his ears, and yet there it was. Christine was defending the freak, and she even thought that _he_ was the monster.

_She has been corrupted_, he decided. He glanced at Erik, who was tying something to his side.

"Next time, freak," Raoul hissed. "I pray you never recover from your wounds."

With that Raoul turned and left. Christine watched him walk away, and when she was sure that he was really, truly gone, she turned on her heel and rushed to Erik's side. To her surprise she found he had staunched the wounds; he had taken strips from his shirt and had made makeshift bandages.

"Erik," Christine breathed, dropping to her knees and inspecting the wounds. "Can you walk?"

He nodded. "I fought the viscount with a leg wound, dear Chrissy."

"Oh you reckless man," she said, smiling a little as she helped him to his feet. "We need to go to a doctor."

"Agreed. But how are we travelling back to Paris? I suspect the viscount has taken the carriage," Erik said.

Christine's face fell; they were stranded. Paris was miles away, and she couldn't see Erik walking all the way with his wounds. There was only one option.

"Do... do you know how to tend to your wounds?" she asked Erik as they trudged towards the entrance.

She felt like it was a pretty silly question to ask; he was able to stop the bleeding, after all.

Erik smiled. "Of course. But not to worry my love. I can handle the pain."

"It's a long way from Paris, Erik!" Christine exclaimed.

"As long as you're by my side, I can handle it," he insisted. "But you must tell me if you feel tired. We can stop and rest."

Christine nodded and they walked out of the graveyard. Every so often Christine stopped and checked to see if Erik's bandages were still in place. It amused and touched Erik. Nobody had shown concern for him before.

About thirty minutes later, they heard the heavy thud of horse hooves, signalling the approach of a carriage. Christine turned and saw a brown open-air carriage in the distance. "Erik, we can ask if they are travelling to Paris!"

Erik remained silent but he nodded. Christine waved frantically and they saw the carriage stop as it neared them. In it were an elderly couple who were being driven by a youth – their stable hand, no doubt.

"Oh goodness gracious! Duchess!" the elderly woman exclaimed. Christine was surprised to hear the old woman recognize her, but she stepped up to the carriage.

"Are you going to Paris?" Christine asked, smiling up at the old woman.

"Yes yes, we are," the old woman replied, glancing from Christine to Erik, who was holding the bandage covering his wound. "Please, ride with us, my lady. Francois! Help the duchess and her friend in!"

Francois jumped from his seat and ushered Christine in, and then helped Erik climb the carriage. As Erik sat across the old woman, she gasped. "What happened to him?"

Christine turned and saw blood seeping from Erik's bandage. "Erik!"

"We need to get them to a doctor, Marie," the old man said, and he ordered Francois to bring them to the nearest doctor. "What on earth happened to you, Duchess? What were you doing out here?"

"I was visiting my mother," Christine replied, her gaze fixed on Erik, who was ripping another strip of his shirt and covering the wound.

The old woman gasped, and Christine knew why: Erik was now practically half-naked, his muscles clearly defined. Christine removed Erik's cape from her shoulders and draped it across Erik. For some strange reason, she didn't like others looking at Erik's naked body.

Whether it was a sense of possessiveness or decency, she didn't know.

The ride back to Paris was done in silence. Marie and her husband had stopped asking questions once they realized that Christine was more focused on bringing her companion to a doctor.

They arrived at Richard Chevalier's office a few minutes before he was set to close. At first he refused, saying that his cook had prepared a delicious meal of turkey and mashed potatoes, but when he learned that the duchess of Wiltshire was his intended customer, he flung open his office and Francois and Christine helped Erik onto the table.

"Good Lord," Chevalier exclaimed as he peeled away the bandages. "I'll have to stitch him up."

"Please, don't let him die," Christine pleaded. Marie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and led Christine out of the office and into the waiting area.

_He can't die, he can't_, Christine thought desperately. _We're going to be married_.

A few hours later Chevalier was done. As he wiped the sweat off his brow, he announced that Erik was alright and that all he needed was rest for the next three weeks.

"But he's strong. I believe he'll be up again in a week," he said, as Christine took his hand and thanked him.

Christine also thanked Marie and her husband for bringing them back to Paris.

"It was nothing, my lady," Marie told her. "I'm just happy that your companion is alright."

When they had left Christine went back inside the office, and saw Erik sitting up on the table. From her position she could see the angry red gash on his side, which was now held closed by tiny stitches.

But what captured her attention was his back. Sweat trickled down the small ridges that his muscles made, and when he stretched, the muscles pulled taut.

_No wonder his embrace feels powerful_, Christine told herself silently. _And yet when he holds me, I feel nothing but safe._

Erik turned and met her gaze, and she saw nothing but love in his eyes. "Chrissy."

"Oh Erik." Christine rushed to him and he enveloped her in his arms. "I was so worried!"

"It would take more than mere scratches to kill me, my love," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. "But I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"I thought I would lose you," she admitted, pulling away and caressing his face. "The very thought of it... it was unbearable."

"Hush dearest," Erik said soothingly, kissing her on the lips. "I'm here."

The two lost themselves in their embrace, and it was a few minutes before they realized they were being watched.

Chevalier cleared his throat and Christine jumped, while Erik merely met the doctor with a neutral stare.

"Begging your pardon, Duchess, but there is someone here to see you," he said. Christine thought that he was going to ask for payment (she had assured him that he would be rewarded handsomely once she and Erik returned to the Opera Populaire, but doctors tended to be rather pushy nowadays), so she nodded.

"Send him in."

Chevalier stepped aside to reveal Madame Giry, who looked anxious, scared, and relieved all at the same time.

"My lady, is everything alright? I heard from the sellers in the market that you were here," the older woman said as Chevalier stepped back out.

"Yes, we're fine Madame Giry," Christine assured her. "Thanks to the skilful hands of Doctor Chevalier, nothing bad has happened to Evrard."

"I heard he was wounded." Madame Giry noted that Christine and Erik were holding hands, and that Christine was wearing a silver ring on her finger.

_Goodness, are they engaged?_ she thought.

"News does fly fast," Erik commented as he stepped down from the table.

"Evrard, are you supposed to be walking around so soon after your operation?" Christine's brow creased as he walked past Madame Giry and shrugged into a starched shirt that Chevalier had provided on Christine's request.

"You worry too much, Chrissy," Erik chided her gently.

"She does tend to do that," Madame Giry said, which earned her a smile from Erik that caused her to feel giddy. "Come. The others have been worried about you."

Erik followed the two women outside, stopping for the barest of seconds to thank Chevalier for his services.

"Think nothing of it," the doctor had replied, adding under his breath: "If the duchess wasn't with you you wouldn't have gone past the front door."

Unfortunately for him Erik heard that little exchange and stored his building resentment at the man who had begrudgingly saved his life for later.

As soon as they were safely ensconced in the carriage, Christine leaned against Erik's shoulder and snoozed. It was only then that Erik realized how exhausted she was. When they arrived at the Opera, Erik insisted on carrying Christine up to her room.

"But your wound," Madame Giry protested. "The duchess wouldn't want you straining yourself."

Erik thanked her but insisted that he could do it himself. Madame Giry sighed and followed them upstairs, where she opened the door for Erik.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Erik said.

Madame Giry started to say something but thought better of it. She smiled warmly at Erik and left.

Erik laid Christine down on the bed, ignoring the slight sting at his side. He then walked to the door and locked it; he'd be damned if he'd let the viscount in while they were sleeping.

* * *

**Author's Note: Seventeen chapters down and eight more to go! Whew! Hope to be with you until the end. Or IS it the end? We'll see. ;)**

**P.S. If there are several words that seem to be misspelled, they aren't; my MS Word is set to the UK Dictionary. :D**


	18. Chapter 18: Revelation

**Chapter Eighteen: Revelation**

Meg slowly groped her way through the dark tunnel. Every so often her hand brushed against something wet and slimy, causing her to fight back a wave of nausea.

_I can't believe I'm doing this_, she thought for the umpteenth time. _But this is the only time I can do so. The bitch and her lover are always around._

Shortly after Christine and Evrard left for the graveyard, Meg seized her chance and entered Christine's room. Since the duchess' arrival, the room had become more luxurious and furnished with only the finest pieces. The oak dresser still stood, along with a ceramic vase filled with slowly drying red roses tied with a black silk ribbon.

Evrard's small tokens of affection, no doubt.

Meg had dared to linger for a few more minutes, fingering the fine dresses that hung in Christine's closet and the expensive necklaces and bracelets that spilled from the jewellery box on the nightstand. How Meg wished she was the duchess! Everything Christine had, Meg longed to have for herself. And as much as she hated to admit it, she envied Christine for being able to win the love and affections of two men. Evrard was obviously handsome despite his freakish mask, and his body made him look strong and powerful. Meg shook her ungodly thoughts of Evrard out of her mind and focused on the viscount instead.

_Raoul can give all of this to me and more_, Meg thought. _If only I could give him an heir, then my future would be set_.

And so Meg had painstakingly searched the room for a hidden panel, a secret doorway.. _anything_that could show her how Evrard seemed to come and go as he pleased. As she had placed her hand on the mirror she felt a slight jolt, and the mirror slid open a notch. A grin played its way on her mouth and she had pushed the mirror until there was an opening where she could squeeze through. Now she was trudging down the slimy and dirty tunnel, trying in vain to ignore the faint squeals of rats or the fungus that were stuck to the walls.

After fifteen minutes she had reached a fork in the tunnel. The left branch was well lit, while the right branch was plunged in darkness. Meg took the left branch without any hesitation, thankful that she could now see where she was going. She gasped as she reached the very end of the tunnel, which featured a tiny wooden platform above a murky underground canal. A boat was tethered to the platform, and Meg now knew that she had found the way to Evrard's lair.

She gingerly stepped on the platform and unhooked the boat, grabbing the long wooden pole that Evrard used to propel the boat across the canal, and stood in the center of the boat. It took her a few tries to cast off, feeling a bit awkward at handling the pole and balancing at the same time. Meg dug the pole deep into the water and felt it hit the bottom, and then used it as a lever to propel the boat further down the canal. Meg barely noticed the gruesome stone structures of gargoyles leering at her behind their half-closed lids, until the boat rounded the corner and she found herself looking at two immense statues that seemed to be holding the roof of the cavern up. A heavy wooden gate prevented her from moving any further, but Meg could make out rows of candles set on a table, a gilded mirror, and two covered alcoves.

She quickly memorized the layout of the lair and then went back the way she came.

"Finally, I know who your mystery lover is, Christine," Meg muttered as she slid the mirror closed. "Who would have thought that you would fall in love with a smelly gutter rat?"

Just as she closed the door to Christine's room, she heard the heavy thud of footsteps, as well as the tittering voice of her mother. Meg quickly darted down the opposite hallway and didn't stop until she reached her room. She leaned against her dresser and saw that she had a triumphant look on her face. With the things that she had discovered today, she was sure that she would be able to knock the high and mighty Duchess of Wiltshire off her pretentious pedestal.

* * *

"I feel perfectly fine, Chrissy, so you can stop fretting," Erik said as he and Christine walked up the front steps of the Opera Populaire.

They had just spent a glorious day in Paris, where Christine showed him all the lovely sights and brought him to some of her favorite boutiques and stores. They had broken their fast at the dainty cafe right across the opera house, where Erik tasted the most delicious pastries and drank piping hot coffee for the first time in his life. For lunch they spent it in this grand restaurant where he and Christine laughed over the funny-sounding names on the menu, much to the horror of the other guests. Finally Christine had insisted on returning to the opera house, mainly because she was worried that Erik's wounds might open up and get infected.

In reality Erik felt no pain, although the application of stitches to his side wound did cause him great discomfort. But since he saw how much it bothered Christine, he made no point to argue - until now.

"But -"

"No buts," he interrupted, and he kissed her on the lips. "I'm a fast healer. You shouldn't worry your pretty little head off over such matters."

Christine opened her mouth to say something, but after seeing the look on his face she sighed. "Fine. I can't help it, though. I almost lost you a few days ago."

"What? To these scratches? Honestly, the viscount should try even harder if he wants to get rid of me." Erik cupped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. "I have no plans of dying today or anytime in the near future. I have too much to live for."

"You'd better not," she scolded him gently. "I plan on enjoying being your wife through and through."

Erik laughed and he held her hand as they walked up the remaining steps. They saw a large crowd congregating in the main lobby through the large glass doors and Christine frowned. "Is there an unannounced performance?"

Erik shrugged. "Perhaps. But I hadn't heard anything from the performers, or even Madame Giry."

"Let's see what's happening," Christine said, tugging gently on Erik's hand. When they opened the door, however, they were thrown aback by a sudden wave of laughter and catcalls.

"There they are! The sewer freak and the duchess!"

"Oh good Lord, now we know why he has a mask over his face!"

"Can't believe a smelly commoner was able to fuck nobility!"

"Such a scandal!"

Amidst the constant jeers, insults, and laughter, Erik and Christine heard Meg's voice coming from the balcony overlooking the main lobby. "He lives in a secret lair beneath the opera house! There's a freak shrine to the duchess, and I think he worships the devil as well! Hell, he is the devil! I mean look at him!"

This earned another round of laughter from the crowd. Christine was struck dumb, while Erik looked livid. Before he could charge up the steps, Christine squeezed his hand and told him to stay. Thankfully the crowd allowed her to pass, but they laughed and called out names as she passed by. Christine fought back the tears of rage and stepped onto the balcony, putting her face to face with Meg, who looked at her defiantly.

"What is this?" Christine demanded, not bothering to lower her voice.

"What do you think?" Meg replied scornfully. "I've just told most of Parisian society what your lover is. A disgusting sewer rat!"

Christine raised her arm and slapped Meg full across the face, and the crowd fell silent. Erik walked through, ignoring their hisses and soft calls of "Freak!" "Filthy commoner!" and other derogatory names, until he came to a stop at the foot of the staircase. A few of the people standing near him moved away, but he chose to ignore it.

"Why do you keep doing this, Meg? What have I done that makes you hate me so much?" Christine cried. "Do you find any sense of pride in doing this?"

Meg glared at her and lifted her chin. "I don't hate you, Christine. I just want you out of my life. You have everything I've ever wanted for myself! Money, beauty, clothes, a huge mansion, and... Raoul. He loves you, and you still treat him like he's dirt! You even chose that commoner over him!"

"If you want Raoul so much you can have him," Christine said lowly. "I've never wanted him. Claim him as yours. I care not. He's just as vile and repulsive as you are. You deserve each other."

"You'd want that, wouldn't you? Can't you see? He's so enamored with you he doesn't even give me a second glance! With you out of the way, he might love me instead!" Meg screamed in Christine's face.

"Oh I'm leaving," Christine announced.

"Why don't you marry the nobleman instead of that little fuck, duchess?" a man called out, and the people around him murmured their agreement. "The viscount is a better catch than _that_."

Erik's gut clenched and he yearned to slip a noose around the man's neck, but he didn't dare move. He could see something flicker in Meg's eyes, as if she wanted to push Christine down the stairs. Erik slowly climbed the steps one at a time as the crowd clamored for Christine to consider her choice.

"I won't exchange my fiance for someone who thinks so low of me," Christine replied. "I am sure most of you have heard the things he said about me in the Masque. I shall not tolerate being told what to do by a crowd of ignorant Parisians who think only of outer appearances. Yes, Evrard lives underground. Yes, he is poor and nothing compared to the viscount. But I love him, and I will marry him. Whatever you say cannot change how I feel about him."

Christine glanced at Erik, to her surprise was only a few feet behind her. "And if it means that I have to constantly endure thousands of jeers just to be with him, then so be it."

She walked towards him and grabbed his hand, guiding him near the edge of the balcony. The crowd shifted, and almost everyone looked uneasy. The weight of what they had done finally hit them, and they wanted nothing but to escape Christine's hard stare and Erik's lethal gaze.

They had just insulted a member of the second most powerful family in England. They had called her a variety of names, from "pathetic" to "sewer whore". Their amicable relationship with the duchess was most probably at an end.

Christine looked at the crowd, memorizing each and every face. These people had insulted her, despite her generosity and kindness. What shattered her most was the fact that they insisted that Raoul was a better catch than Erik, all because some spiteful girl had told them that he lived underground.

"Get out," she whispered. "I never want to see any of your faces here again. Get out!"

The crowd quickly dispersed, and although a few attempted to apologize, they quickly backed away as Erik fixed his deadly stare at them. When the lobby was empty, Christine turned to Meg.

"You may have just succeeded in destroying half of Paris' relationship with the Daae family, Giry," Christine said. The time for courtesy was now over. Christine felt nothing but anger for the girl she had considered to be a distant friend for most of her life. "But you have not succeeded in breaking me and Erik apart."

Upon seeing Meg's confused face, Christine laughed softly. "Yes. He's the boy who threw the contents of your mother's sewing box at you when we were young."

Christine didn't give Meg a chance to reply. She stalked past Meg and went to her room, followed closely by Erik. As he closed the door Christine sank to the floor, finally giving way to the hurt and disappointment.

She heard Erik walk over to her and kneel down beside her, immediately taking her in his arms and rocking her back and forth gently. The two remained silent, until Christine looked up at him and said: "Those people... how could they say such things about us?"

"Do their opinions really matter, my love? Let them think what they will. We still have each other, and nothing they can say can change that."

Christine nodded, but tears still fell from her eyes. Erik wiped these away with his handkerchief and she buried her face in the folds of his jacket. "I want to leave, Erik," she murmured. "I want to go back to England. I can't stay here anymore."

"Then we shall," Erik replied, smoothing her hair. "Just say the word and we shall leave."

* * *

Raoul barged in Meg's room, his eyes wild and bloodshot. Meg gasped and sat up from the bed, where she was preparing to undress. It was obvious that the viscount had spent the past few days in an opium house; the rims around his eyes and the smell of the drug on his body said it all.

"Raoul! What are you -" Meg was cut off abruptly as Raoul delivered a hard, stinging blow on her cheek that sent her flopping back on the bed.

"How dare you humiliate Christine like that!" he roared. "Just because she's with that bastard does not give you the right to expose her to scandal and ruin!"

Meg held her cheek, which still stung from the blows she received from Raoul and Christine combined. It took her a few seconds to recover, before she quickly stood up and faced the man she so deeply loved.

"I did it for you, Raoul," she said, reaching out one arm to touch him, comfort him even. "I wanted them to see how she was abusing your love. If you would just let me in your heart, Raoul, I would never do the things she is doing to you."

"I don't feel anything for you, Meg Giry," Raoul replied coldly, and his refusal stung Meg. "Christine, whether she cavorts with commoners or not, is still the woman I love. And that you have publicly shamed her has placed you far from my good graces."

With that he turned away from her and walked to the door. Before he left, he looked at her briefly and said: "You always had the manners and talent for a whore. Why don't you use that to your advantage?"

Tears leapt to Meg's eyes but she refused to let Raoul have the final word. "You bastard! Do you think that Christine will be yours? She and that freak are getting married! Christine will never be yours!"

Her last few words were drowned out by the slamming of the door. Like Christine, Meg sank to her knees and sobbed, but this time out of the grief she had in the knowledge that no matter what she did, the man she wanted to marry would never love her back.


	19. Chapter 19: Christine Leaves

**Chapter Nineteen: Christine Leaves**

Erik smiled to himself as he walked down the tunnel that led to Christine's bedroom. The past few weeks were glorious. Although all of Paris knew that he lived under the Opera Populaire, that didn't stop him and Christine from venturing out everyday to discover the new sights the city had to offer. Christine seemed to have recovered from her depressing spell and had discussed no more about moving to England, and Erik decided to let her be. The viscount was still absent, but Erik heard the night watchman that he had heard Raoul's angry voice coming from Meg's room the night she had blatantly exposed Erik's true identity and humiliated Christine.

Frankly Erik didn't care, and he hoped the viscount would stay far away from him and Christine. For the first time in his life he was able to move around in society without fearing about what other people thought of him. Christine gave him this sense of boldness that he never thought he had, and she even defied her own kind just to be with him.

How he loved his woman.

As he slid the mirror open, he saw a piece of paper lying on the floor in front of it. He instantly recognized Christine's handwriting and quickly picked up the letter. In one swift motion, he unfolded the letter and read it.

"No," he whispered, and lifted his eyes to the room. Nothing seemed out of place; there were no open trunks or drawers that would signify that she had left in a hurry. The room looked the same, save for the red roses that were now completely wilted.

Erik crushed the letter in his palm and walked to the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Should he confront Madame Giry about Christine's sudden disappearance? She did mention that she was safe, and that she just needed to leave to tend to some of her father's business dealings.  
He sighed. This didn't suit well with him at all. He preferred that she had given him more warning and hadn't left in the middle of the night. What if she was attacked by a group of rogue bandits or robbers?

The very thought of Christine being manhandled by ruffians made Erik's blood boil. _I need to make sure she isn't hurt_, he thought, and he turned around and stalked back to the tunnel, not bothering to slide the mirror closed.

Erik walked down a series of tunnels, his feet automatically taking him to the sewers beneath the shadiest part of Paris. He nimbly jumped from one ridge to another as he scaled the grimy walls, ignoring the fungus that stuck to his clothes. The first place he went to was a pub, where he listened passively at some of the drunken conversations of the patrons. After an hour of listening to one man's complaints about his nagging wife, a woman's moans as she entertained a rather horny customer on the table, and a rumble of slurred words from a beggar who was lucky enough to have raised the price of a bottle of gin, Erik moved on to the next, which was an opium house.

To his surprise he heard the owner greet the viscount, who immediately threw a bag of coins on the table (the heavy thud of the bag and the clink of many coins was unmistakable). Erik smirked and listened as Raoul vented his spleen to anyone who would listen and amidst a cloud of smoke. Once or twice a whore would attempt to sit on the viscount's lap, and he promptly pushed her off with a look of distaste.

"Is it true, then, that the beautiful duchess is marrying that gutter snipe?" a familiar, drawling voice said. Erik peered through the crack on the wall and saw Eugene Colbert, Christine and Raoul's common friend.

"It's true." Raoul inhaled on the pipe deeply and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I even heard it from that simpering wench, Meg Giry. The poor bitch thinks she can make me fall in love with her."

Eugene laughed. "You always had this effect on women, Raoul."

"If only it worked on Christine, then we wouldn't be in this fucking shithole," Raoul replied, rolling his eyes. "Why did you want to see me then?"

"I come on behalf of my wife," Eugene said hesitantly, which earned him a derisive snort from Raoul.

"Oh come on Eugene," Raoul said scornfully. "Must you always cater to the slight whims of your wife?"

Eugene paused, as if controlling his anger. When he spoke, it was in a more steady voice. "If I must. She wants me to tell you to stop this obsession with Christine. It's doing neither of you any good." Eugene paused for a few seconds before adding: "And I agree with her. Honestly man, aren't you tired of chasing after something that constantly eludes you? Does it give you any form of happiness?"

"I'll only be happy if Christine is with me," Raoul snapped, refilling his pipe and taking another lungful. "The mere fact that she chose that commoner further fuels my resolve."

Erik chuckled softly and dropped back down to the tunnel floor. So far there were no reports of a beautiful aristocrat being abducted. But still...

Erik went to each location that was of ill repute, carefully listening to conversations. Finally he came to the conclusion that Christine was safe, from the hoodlums in Paris, at least. Erik frowned slightly and rubbed his forehead. He realized that he hadn't eaten since he had dinner with Christine at the De La Ruze last night, and he made his way back to the opera house. Using the small access hatch overlooking the kitchen, Erik slipped in and took a loaf of bread and some fruit. It was then when he heard the frantic voices of Madame Giry and Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre.

"Where is she?"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday!"

"You mean she's missing?"

"That fiend kidnapped her!"

Erik frowned. This did not mean well for him.

++++  
_**Paris, 1871**_

Raoul was incensed.

Christine was missing for nearly a year now, and all his efforts at finding her had failed. He suspected that she and her common lover had fled, for Evrard - or rather, Erik - was also missing. He had sent hundreds of men to search the surrounding villages and towns, but to no avail. Even his father's contacts in England had no idea where she was. Their disappearance was so sudden that many wondered if he had anything to do with it.

His friendship with the Colberts and the Brandts had deteriorated (Lucille was completely convinced that he had Christine and Erik killed), while the British Royal Family, although deciding to remain neutral on the entire issue, was also blaming him (Raoul could tell through the frosty letters he received from the Crown Prince).

_Damn them to hell! _he thought angrily. His reputation was not as clean and polished as it was a year ago, when he and Christine had first arrived in Paris. Of course it was long tarnished since he had begun making frequent appearances in the seedy pubs, whorehouses, and opium dens that littered the outer rim of Paris, but Raoul considered Erik the main reason for the decay of the de Chagny name.

He was glad his father wasn't alive to see this happen. Raoul could practically hear the condescending tone of the Count de Chagny.

_"The de Chagnys have been in power since the monarchy of England has been established. Your shenanigans have countered everything this family has stood for since it began! I can hardly see you fit to be married to another respectable noblewoman. You disgrace me!"_

Raoul snarled and rolled out of bed, ignoring the feeble protests of the naked whore lying beside him. Raoul reached for his shirt and pants, brushing off the small hand that had wrapped around his manhood in an attempt to get him hard.

"Not now you bitch!" he spat, jerking upright and walking away from the bed. He removed several coins from his jacket pocket and threw them at the whore, who sputtered and began throwing curses at him. Raoul pulled his jacket on, grabbed his shoes, and stalked out of the room. He had barely placed his shoes on when another customer jostled into him, whom he promptly pushed away.

"What gives?" the man declared drunkedly, swinging a fist blindly. Raoul merely rolled his eyes and thundered down the wooden stairs, paying no attention to the grimy man who urged him to return anytime. Raoul untied the leather strap that tied his horse to a post near the whorehouse and mounted it, setting a course that would take him to the opera house.

The wintry wind blew against Erik's face as he looked out at Paris. He had spent the entire year beneath the opera house, stealing food from the kitchen to survive. As far as he knew, Christine was still attending to her father's estate, for the Opera Populaire was anything but bankrupt. Funds continued to flow from the Wiltshire treasury and into Madame Giry's care, and as a result the opera had been restored to its former glory. Soleil had officially ousted Carlotta as the opera's main diva, and unlike her predecessor, Soleil was a warm, friendly girl who readily tutored the new singers and performers when they arrived.

As for Monsieurs Firmin and Andre, they were kicked off the employ of the opera house after Erik "accidentally" exposed their plans to steal more than half of the opera's funds. The sudden scandal of their affair with Carlotta had only quickened their resignation. Even Carlotta had dropped her own bomb: she was pregnant, and she didn't know if the father was Monsieur Firmin or Monsieur Andre. She reluctantly left the opera in disgrace, and had to sell most of her costly dresses, furs, and jewels. She had left for Italy and reportedly founded a small music shop.

Meg Giry was still in the opera house, but she had become a quieter version of her former self. Some believed she had gone insane after being rejected by the viscount several times, but whenever he was there she was seen to become more alive, although she did tend to babble on about the man who threw sewing supplies at her.

It amused Erik no end.

The viscount also had his share of misfortune. Thanks to his dealings with whores, opium traders, and pubkeepers, he had built a new reputation for himself: "The Viscount of Vice". He still was a respected figure in England, but in Paris he was known as the nobleman who struck deals with the vilest characters, broke beds with countless whores, smoked up a storm, and shamed the entire Parisian aristocracy. Furthermore, there were wild rumours that he had in fact, murdered the duchess and her lover in a fit of a jealous rage, which did nothing to improve the viscount's image.

As for Erik, he had to conceal himself from the rest of the world (a fact that he did quite well) after several people - Monsieurs Firmin and Andre included - thought that he had kidnapped Christine. This rumour died down quickly, since the ingrates who had humiliated Christine insisted that the duchess loved Erik and vice versa.

If that was their way of asking for forgiveness, Erik thought it was pretty feeble.

_Christine, so much has happened. I miss you so much_, Erik thought wistfully, feeling small bits of snow fall on his face and relishing the sensation. _I want you here with me, I want to hold you in my arms and never let you go again. _

Erik was struck by a sudden thought. What if Christine was dead?

No, he couldn't think like that. She was alive; he felt it down to his very bones.

Even though the only correspondence he had from her was the simple note she had left him on that fateful day, he believed that Christine was alive.

The sudden clop clop of horse hooves caused him to look down.

Raoul.

The viscount dismounted his horse and jogged up the steps, disappearing into the warm glow of the lobby. Erik frowned and slunk back into the shadows. It was a slim chance that the viscount - or anyone else for that matter - would go to the rooftop, but he wasn't about to risk it. He was about to head back to his lair when he heard the faint sound of footsteps approach. What puzzled him was that they were coming from behind the angel statue on the far wall; the statue that concealed a secret passageway that led to the stables.

Erik stood still and waited.

The statue slowly swung open, revealing...

Christine.

Erik's heart thundered. Was it really her?

Yes. She looked as beautiful as ever, although a bit healthier. Her cheeks were slightly plump, and she seemed flushed, like she had run up a long flight of stairs. She surveyed the rooftop, her eyes squinted. "Erik?"

She was back.

_I can't believe a year has passed_, she thought as she quietly led her horse back inside the stables, giving him some sugar cubes and a bucket of water to drink before heading up the secret passageway Erik had showed her during one of their tours.

But with the things she had to attend to, it didn't surprise her. The year she had spent away from the opera house - and Erik - was more than she could bear. Still, she had made sure that Madame Giry and the Opera Populaire were well taken care of. She had also instructed a new cook to quietly leave plates of food for Erik, so that he wouldn't starve himself while she was away. Now she hoped that he was at their favorite meeting place; she didn't want to run into any of the others yet, especially Raoul.

News of his so-called downfall had reached her ears, which repulsed her even more. She couldn't believe that the young man she had practically grown up with was now a walking den for vices. In her heart she knew that she had done the right thing by falling in love with Erik and not Raoul.  
Her shoes hardly made any sound on the granite staircase, and as she pushed the button the statue covering the passageway swung open. Christine stepped onto the rooftop and squinted her eyes on account of the snow.

"Erik?" she called out tentatively.

Suddenly she was engulfed by a mass of thick cloth, and she immediately smelled Erik's familiar scent.

"Christine!" Erik cried, hugging her close. "Christine, Christine..."

She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. She had missed her fiance deeply, and to finally have him close to her soothed the dull ache in her heart.

"Erik," she murmured, pulling away from him and drawing his face to hers, kissing him fervently, with him returning, if not exceeding the passion she showed in that kiss.

"I missed you my love," Erik said huskily as they broke apart. "Where have you been?"

"Everywhere," she replied vaguely. "I don't want to talk about last year, Erik. It brings back bad memories."

"What?" Erik stopped, his hand clutching hers tightly. "What do you mean? Did someone hurt you?"

"No, no," Christine said quickly. "It's not like that. I meant that last year was practically unbearable because I wasn't with you."

Christine saw Erik visibly relax.

"Oh. I thought someone dared lay a hand against you."

Christine laughed softly and led him to the alcove. "I just want you to stay with me tonight, Erik. I've gone so long without your touch."

"As you wish, milady." Erik smiled as Christine snuggled close to him, hardly daring to believe that the woman he loved was here, finally illuminating the darkness that was his life.

* * *

**Author's Note: And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Some form of closure to several past events and characters. Hopefully this chapter ties a few loose ends for you, because now we'll be focusing on another form of closure: Raoul's final revenge. :) Stay tuned.**

**P.S. If you're into Gerard Butler (silly me), then you may want to watch out for my "300" fan fic, "The Heart of a Spartan". ;) Just saying. xD**


	20. Chapter 20: I Never Left You

**Chapter Twenty: I Never Left You**

"You seem different," Erik commented as he and Christine walked to her bedroom.

"Do I?" Christine said absent-mindedly, running her finger up and down his arm. "How so?"

"I don't know. But something about you feels different." Erik shrugged.

"You're imagining things," Christine teased him.

"Maybe. But I hope I'm not imagining _you_." Erik held on tight to her hand and smiled.

"You aren't. I'm right here with you, and I'm never leaving you ever again," she assured him, putting her hand on his chest. "I thought I could handle being without you, but the moment I left I knew I couldn't."

"Then why didn't you go back?"

"I was beyond the point of no return, Erik. There were things that I needed to do on my own. I'm just happy to find you here. I was afraid that you left."

"Never. You said that you'd be back, and so I waited. I could wait forever, Chrissy, as long as I could be with you again."

Christine smiled up at the man she loved. She had become so accustomed to his appearance that she didn't mind that she could only see the left half of his face. Although she had seen what he really looked like beneath his mask, the thought of his deformity didn't repulse her. Christine saw him for the man that he really was. A faithful lover, a fierce protector, and a loving man.

Before they reached Christine's room she pulled Erik into a corner and kissed him again. It was as if she was making up for the time that they lost, because her kiss was urgent, needy. Erik flicked his tongue inside her mouth and she moaned in ecstasy. Erik suspected they'd never reach her bedroom, and he was right.

They became so wrapped up in each other and in removing each others' garments that they failed to see the silent figure that was observing them from the far end of the hallway.

Raoul.

He was on his way to the smoking room when he had heard Christine's voice. For a split second his spirits soared; she was back! His euphoria was quickly shot down, however, when he heard his rival's voice. Raoul had known that Evrard - who everyone now knew as Erik, Christine's mysterious childhood friend - had survived the wounds in record time, but he still hoped that the fiend had died.

_It appears I have to use a sharper blade next time_, Raoul thought as he watched Erik clamp a firm hand on Christine's thigh and she rocked her hips in response.

The scene was so disgusting, and yet Raoul could not pry his eyes from the lovers. He couldn't help but be impressed (although it made him want to break the two apart even more); save for a few hushed moans and grunts, Christine and Erik were making love as quietly as they could. They were, after all, in a hallway, where someone could just pass them by and have a full view of their semi-naked bodies.

Raoul gripped the wall tightly as Erik shifted his body, revealing Christine's pale, soft-looking breasts, which were shining with sweat. Raoul's hands practically itched to cup them, but he fought the feeling back. When Erik took Christine a few seconds later, Raoul looked away. He had no desire to see his filthy rival pump in and out of the woman he wanted for himself.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the two broke apart. Erik helped Christine put on her dress before zipping his pants and putting on his shirt.

"Is that how you say 'I missed you'?" Erik asked her with a naughty glint in his eye. "Because I'd love to see how you really say 'I love you'."

Christine laughed, and Raoul's stomach knotted. How he missed those times he and Christine had laughed over the most mundane things.

_Ever since we arrived in Paris everything has gone straight to hell_, Raoul mused darkly. _I won't be happy until the two of you are not happy_.

"I'm sure you would," Christine replied, meeting Erik's gaze evenly. "And I'd be more than happy to show you."

_Slut_, Raoul thought.

Erik chuckled. "Have you seen the viscount recently?"

"Erik, I only just arrived! You were the first person I looked for. Frankly I don't care if I ever see him ever again," Christine declared coldly. "I hope he gets lost in all of his vices and never recovers."

Raoul's eyes widened and he felt his heart break. Christine sounded as if she hated him... him! Her childhood friend!

"Where did this dark hatred for Raoul come from?"

"He hurt you. He has finally placed himself away from whatever love I might have had for him. Enough about Raoul, Erik, please. You've worn me out and all I want to do is rest," Christine said, her tone making it clear that she didn't want to discuss the viscount any further.

Erik nodded and the two turned into another hallway that would lead them to Christine's bedroom. Once they were gone, Raoul stepped out of his hiding place, his hands balled into fists and his entire body shaking in rage.

"What have you done to her, you bastard?" Raoul whispered harshly. "And you, Christine, how dare you toy with my feelings like this? How dare you! I won't rest until one of you is dead, I swear it. I swear on the grave of my father, Armand de Chagny. From now on, let it be war upon you both!"

* * *

Christine rolled over in bed and sighed happily. She couldn't believe that just last night, she and Erik had Earth-shattering, unconventional, but oh-so-pleasurable sex in the hallway. For the first time in her life, Christine felt wanton, but as long as she was pleasuring Erik, she couldn't care less.

In reality Christine's thighs were sore from wrapping them around Erik's thick, muscular waist, but the pain only served as a reminder of what had transpired between them. Beside her Erik snored softly, the deformed half of his face buried in the pillow (Christine had insisted that he take it off), his usually-neat hair all messy, and a hint of drool hanging on the side of his mouth. Christine smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently on the lips. As she did so he stirred, and Christine pulled back.

Erik still slept, and Christine had to keep herself from grinning. She loved watching him sleep; he looked more vulnerable and like a little boy when he was fast asleep. Christine knew it was morning however. She could hear the rooster crow and the performers chattering away downstairs. Every so often she heard Madame Giry's stern voice chastise the group, as well as the occasional shout of an opera worker.

Christine didn't want to get out of bed, but she and Erik had a lot of things to do today. First was to prepare for their journey back to England, leave some last-minute instructions, and then pass by her former nanny's house before heading to the harbour. Christine had decided that she wanted to marry Erik as soon as she got back, and the faster that they returned to England, the sooner they would be wed.

If Erik and I are husband and wife, Raoul can no longer touch him, or me, Christine had reasoned. Christine had prepared for her and Erik to leave that very evening. They didn't need to bring a lot of things; they could simply buy whatever they needed when they arrived in England.

Christine hesitated before shaking Erik awake. He opened one eye sleepily, and then the other. "Christine?"

"Good morning love," she said brightly.

Her chipper mood seemed to affect him because he lifted his face from the pillow and smiled slowly at her. "Good morning Chrissy. You seem rather happy today."

"Oh I am, Erik." Christine got off the bed, her silk nightgown rippling as she walked towards the dresser and sat down.

Erik clumsily reached for his mask on the nightstand and put it on. Christine hummed while brushing her hair, watching her fiance from the mirror. Erik finally got his shoes on and he walked up behind her, placing one hand on the base of her neck and massaging it gently.

"Erik, I want to leave for England tonight," she told him, leaning her cheek against his arm.

"As you wish. Do we need to do anything important before we leave?"

Christine was surprised at the ease and swiftness to which he agreed to her plea, but she took it all in stride. "Yes. I need to pack a few things, tell Madame Giry some final instructions, and then visit my old nanny. You do remember her, right?"

Erik thought for a moment. He saw in his mind a rather rotund woman chasing after a six year old Christine, with large eyes and rather tan skin. "I do. She lives in Paris?"

"Near the outskirts. I was able to get her address from the cook, who knows her." Christine finished brushing and stood up, feeling Erik's hand slide from her neck. Without a word she slowly slipped the straps of her nightgown off and tried not to shiver as the cold air hit her bare body. She had no idea why she did that, but when she saw Erik's appreciative and desire-laced stare, she didn't care. Giving him a sly smile, Christine walked over to her closet and chose a dress of pale blue accentuated with gold edges. Christine slowly put it on, giving Erik more than enough time to look at her.

When she was fully clothed, Erik nodded and put on his jacket and cape. He took Christine's hand as they left the room and together they headed to the kitchen.

As usual the cook had prepared a large feast, and Erik and Christine joined the others as they ate their breakfast. It was then when Christine announced her departure for England with Erik, and that Madame Giry would be the head of the Opera Populaire. The performers felt sad; they had become used to the comforting presence of Christine (and even the intensity that Erik radiated whenever he was around). Several ballerinas even whispered behind their hands that they would miss gawking at Erik's masculine form, which made Christine smile with pride.

Meg Giry was not at the table and Christine did not ask for her. Madame Giry overlooked this; she had had enough of her daughter's thoughtless and cruel shenanigans.

After breakfast, Christine and Erik personally said goodbye to each of the performers and workers. One carpenter even boldly went up to Christine and Erik and shook their hands.

"No matter what the rest of Paris thinks my lady, I believe that the two of you are the perfect match. I'm happy for the both of you," he said. Christine smiled and gave the man a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush.

When Christine and Erik returned to their room, they spent a few hours choosing which of Christine's garments and jewellery to take back with them. Soon they had packed two suitcases that Erik could easily carry. The rest of her things were left in the room for when they returned.

The last thing they did was to visit Erik's lair, where he packed all of his compositions and a few of his favorite sculptures in a small leather bag. Christine watched the ripples in the water as her fiance finally kept the last of his possessions in an old trunk.

"Aren't you taking anything else?" she asked him as he stood beside her.

Erik shook her head. "Everything I want to have in life is standing beside me. I could care less about material possessions."

"You're sweet." Christine smiled and followed him down the steps and into the boat. As Erik guided the boat out of the cavern, Christine stole a look behind her. The candles were still lit, but the desk looked bare with the stacks of paper and parchment missing. The boat rounded the corner and Erik's lair slipped from view.

++++  
The carriage was ready. Erik and Christine said their final goodbyes and made their way down the steps. Erik opened the carriage door for Christine and she stepped in. Once Erik had sat down the driver clicked the reins and the carriage made its way to Margerethe Fournier's home. The houses and shops they passed went by in a blur, and Christine didn't bother looking at them. She felt nervous. Secretly she feared that Raoul would try and stop them from leaving, and she didn't want anything else to happen to Erik.

_Please, let him be too late_, she prayed.

Beside her Erik watched as the houses gave way to the wooden stalls of the fish market, and a few minutes later, the harbour. His brow furrowing, he asked Christine: "Is this where your nanny lives?"

For the first time since they left the opera house Christine peered out of the window. When she saw the small pier and the ships anchored in the distance, she gasped. "This isn't the way to Nanny Margerethe's home!"

Startled at this sudden turn of events, Christine wrenched open the door and stepped down, immediately followed by Erik.

"Driver, this isn't the place! I thought you knew where she lives!" she exclaimed, walking up to the driver.

He slowly lifted his hood to reveal straight blond hair and piercing blue eyes that glared down at her accusingly.

The viscount.


	21. Chapter 21: The Choice

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Choice**

Christine gasped in surprise as Raoul threw off the thick black cloak that had covered him from head to foot. He jumped down, his eyes never leaving her face. His boots thudded on the cobbled stones and Christine stepped back until she felt Erik's arms encircle her protectively.

"Christine," Raoul began imploringly. "Christine please, I'm begging you, don't go with him."

"Raoul, what... why... how did you know Erik and I were leaving?" she asked him. She could feel Erik's body grow tense and she clung to him for comfort.

"I have my sources. Christine, I love you. I'm sorry for all the things I did, but that was because I didn't want to lose you," Raoul explained. He looked different since she last saw him in the graveyard. There he was furious and lethal. Here he seemed... vulnerable and - dare she think it - broken.

"Christine, you're the only one who could make me see the beauty in life. God knows I've tried to find love with another woman -"

"By fucking them more fiercely than a stallion," Erik interjected.

"-but they can't give me the same gratification you do," Raoul finished, ignoring Erik's interruption. "Please Christine. We've been friends for years. I've loved you since the moment we met. No matter how much you hate me, no matter how much I've wanted to hurt you for hurting me, I can't. I love you too much."

Christine shook her head. "It's too late for us, Raoul. I've seen the kind of man you really are. If you were really like the young viscount I knew many years ago, I might have fallen in love with you. But I can't. I've found my soulmate, and it's time you found yours."

"Christine..." Raoul broke off and hung his head. Christine had never seen him look so defeated. She wanted to comfort him, tell him that she wasn't the only woman in this world. She started to pull away from Erik, but he held her fast.

"No," he said flatly, watching the viscount carefully. "I don't trust him."

"Erik, please. I want to go to him," she whispered. "I can't turn back on our friendship, no matter what he has done. I know I said I don't care, but I have to see if he's alright."

Erik gripped her for a few more seconds before reluctantly releasing her. "Very well."

Christine slowly walked to Raoul, who still had his head bowed. As she approached she heard him crying softly, which made her pity him all the more.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the dream she had more than a year before flashed in her mind.

Raoul stood there, watching as Erik held Christine in his arms. He wasn't going to be able to strike Erik with Christine in the way; he had to make her move away from her lover somehow.

Raoul thought quickly, and then began putting on his best pathetic routine. At first Christine didn't seem to buy it, but as he mentioned how much he loved her, he saw her icy facade slowly crumble.

_It's working_, he thought triumphantly. He knew that if he appeared to need some comforting, Christine would approach him and he would be in the clear to unsheath the dagger strapped on the inside of his pants and stab Erik in the heart. His shirt was long enough to cover the handle, but he could easily take it out in one swift motion if he needed to.

At first Raoul had brought the dagger with the intent of killing them both and disposing of their bodies in the river, but when he saw Christine in her lovely gown, he had a change of heart. He couldn't kill her. He couldn't. And so he had turned his eye on Erik, the man responsible for ruining his once-perfect life.

"Christine..." he stopped, making sure to put just the right amount of grief in his voice that would chip away the last of Christine's resolve. He looked down and pretended to cry softly. He never was a loud crier.

His act worked; he could see Christine pleading with Erik to let her go. Erik hesitated, still suspicious of him.

_You'll let her come to me_, Raoul thought. _We never could deny her anything._

Finally Erik released Christine, who started walking towards him. He could hear the soft sound of her footsteps and the rustling of her dress on the pavement, and Raoul bit back a triumphant smile. He still continued to sob.

He had expected Christine to be hugging him by now, and he slowly looked up. Christine was standing a few feet away from him, as if deep in thought. Raoul wanted to reach out to her and grab her arm, but if he did she might cry out and bring Erik leaping to her rescue. Instead he continued to stare at her.

After what seemed like hours, Christine's gaze flicked to him and in that instant, Raoul knew that she knew of his plan.

Her gaze bore deep into his, and she gasped. "No," was all she managed to choke out. "It was you?"

Raoul didn't understand what she meant by that, but he couldn't let her rush back to Erik. With a strangled cry, he unsheathed the dagger and ran towards Erik.

"Die, you filthy common sewer rat!" he screamed, as he raised the dagger high.

And struck.

_"Choose," Erik said, holding up a book about witches and a book about myths. __  
_

_Christine tapped her chin thoughtfully and pointed to the book on witches. "That one!"__  
_

_Erik smiled. He was hoping she would choose that one; it was his favourite in the entire library. __  
_

_"Papa has a similar book at home, but I'm not allowed to read it yet," Christine told him as he placed the other book back on the shelf. "He says I'm too young."__  
_

_"There are some books with rather disturbing topics," Erik told her, opening the chosen book on the first page. "You shouldn't blame your father for protecting you from some of them."__  
_

_"But I find magic and anything mystical enchanting!" Christine declared, swinging her arms. "I don't understand why adults should stop their children from learning."__  
_

_"They aren't. They're just waiting for the right time. You can't learn certain things when you're young because they might affect your innocence." Erik held up a finger and began to read, but when he reached the second page he saw his audience wasn't listening. "Christine?"__  
_

_"Why does innocence have to be so important anyway?" she griped, once she realized Erik was looking at her.__  
_

_"Because if you lose it, you can never get it back. You should cherish it, Chrissy," Erik replied.__  
_

_Although Christine didn't look convinced, she settled down and listened to the story. The first one was about a witch who bewitched a prince and made him believe that she was his wife, so that she would be able to kill the old king and take the kingdom when she and the prince were crowned King and Queen. The prince's sister, however, intervened, and the witch was banished. Another story was about Melania, the daughter of the most powerful witch and wizard in the world, who fell in love with the son of her parents' most hated rival. Despite her parents' aggressive protests, Melania married the man she loved, who in turn proved his worth to his in-laws by saving Melania's father from an assassin. __  
_

_The candles stood low in the library of the Opera Populaire as Erik finished reading the third story, at which point Christine stopped him. He looked at her curiously, and then realized that it was getting late. __  
_

_"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Erik asked her as Christine hugged him and raced to the door of the library. __  
_

_She nodded and gave him a wide smile. "I'll see you in the rooftop!" she said before leaving. __  
_

_Once Christine left Erik walked to the shelf on the very back of the library, the book tucked under his arm. He wanted to find out what happened to Orlock and Medvin as they tried to escape the wiles of an enchantress.__  
_

I'm under the spell of an enchantress,_ Erik thought as he trod down the tunnel that led to his home. _But I don't think I even want to escape her.

_"Choose," Raoul demanded. He and Christine, then 14 years old, were standing in one of London's busiest markets, deciding which necklace to buy.__  
_

_Christine had her reservations; she had insisted that she didn't need another necklace.__  
_

_"I have this one," she said, showing him the rather tacky medallion she wore day in and day out. Raoul didn't understand why she preferred that lump of tin over the gorgeous and sparkling necklaces that hung behind the glass cases. It was the only thing about Christine that perplexed him, but he insisted on getting one for her anyway.__  
_

_Christine sighed as she pointed to a small drop necklace. "That one."__  
_

_"Are you sure? Don't you want the emerald one?" Raoul gestured to an elegant emerald necklace hanging on the other end of the glass case. __  
_

_"The emerald necklace is lovely, my lady," the lady behind the stall offered, looking at the two young aristocrats hopefully.__  
_

_Raoul knew she was hoping for a large purchase, and he saw her sigh in disappointment as Christine insisted on the smaller, and relatively cheaper, drop necklace. __  
_

_Raoul made a move to put it around her neck, but Christine shook her head and asked the lady to put it in a bag for her. Now _Raoul_ was the one who sighed in disappointment; he had hoped to be able to "accidentally" brush his hand against Christine's neck.__  
_

_But he had to appear as a gentleman, so he smiled warmly at Christine and followed her as they browsed through the other stalls. Every so often Raoul dropped hints that Christine might like a certain item, like a mink coat or a fur stole, but Christine waved her hand dismissively. __  
_

_It was only when she saw a stall selling birds did she clap her hands in delight and rush towards the large cages.__  
_

_"Oh Raoul, look at them! Don't they sing so beautifully?"__  
_

_Raoul stopped and listened to the birds as they twittered noisily.__  
_

_"I don't think so, Christine," he said softly, so that the burly seller wouldn't hear. "I've heard that Ella Thompson is the newest singing sensation in London. Her voice is much better than these."__  
_

_"Raoul, I've always wan-"__  
_

_"Nonsense!" Raoul interrupted. "I think you'll enjoy Ella's singing better than the birds'. Come, her show is starting in an hour."__  
_

_With that, Raoul led Christine away from the stall, failing to see the sadness and longing that enveloped young Christine's pretty face._

* * *

**Author's Note: Still reading? Move on to the next chapter then! That's where Christine and Erik finally consummate their love (their little love scene earlier was just in "alpha testing". Lol. Would love to hear your thoughts! :D**


	22. Chapter 22: Christine and Erik

**Chapter Twenty Two: Christine and Erik**

"_I don't know how to do this," Erik admitted as Christine led him inside his bedroom. His words were silenced when Christine kissed him, and he found himself drowning in the sweetness of her mouth and tongue._

"_Nor do I," she said breathlessly as they pulled away. "We should just let it happen."_

_Erik felt her fingers undo the buttons of his vest and he gave a deep sigh. His hands slid the thick robe covering her and felt something silky beneath his hands. He looked down and liked what he saw. Christine was wearing the same nightgown the night they first met after 12 years, and he remembered how naked she looked._

_His manhood reared its head in response, and Christine gasped. She could feel his bulging manhood through her nightgown; they were so close to each other that their pelvises were touching. Christine moved forward, pushing her body against his. Soon they were intertwined with each other, her thigh on top of his, his hand clasping her bare thigh, and their hands groping each other in the low gloom of the room._

_Erik led her to the bed and lay her down gently. He needn't worry about shoes; after all, the woman had burst in on him when he was doing some sketching. He was already half naked thanks to those groping hands of hers, and he saw her smile and admire the finely sculpted muscles that were now shining with sweat._

_He then lay on top of her, her thighs opening to accommodate his lower body. Christine held his face in her hands and kissed him._

"_Remove your mask, my love," she cooed into his ear._

"_No. What if I repulse you?" Erik whispered, his breath tickling her neck. _

_She smiled. "Oh my darling, I love you. When you take me, I want to see you. All of you."_

_Erik permitted her to take off his mask and put it down on the table beside the bed. He felt the cool air wash over his deformed face and hesitated. He imagined her retching and turning away from him, but she never even flinched or batted an eye. Instead, she trailed her tongue on the uneven patches of skin and left small kisses in its wake._

_His desire jolted back into action and he loved her all the more. Involuntarily he felt his hips thrust against her, and they both gasped in surprise and pleasure. Christine's eyes fluttered closed and then opened again. _

"_Erik," she murmured, and he buried his face on her neck, his hips doing the same thrusting action. Slowly at first, but when he heard Christine's moans of pleasure, he sped up until the thrusting became a steady pounding._

_Their sighs and moans became one, she sighing his name and he grunting hers every so often. She wound her thighs around him and demanded that he remove the offensive piece of cloth that was keeping him from her. He did so, but not after rubbing his intense desire against her wet patch a few more times, causing her to cry out his name in pleasure._

_Erik removed his pants in one swift motion and looked at her. Christine seemed to understand what he was silently asking of her and she nodded. They both knew what they wanted: him to claim her maidenhood, and she to accept his sword into her sheath. He eased himself a few inches into her and received a more urgent plea._

_When he was fully inside her, Christine trailed her fingers on his back and neck, causing him to plunge in and out of her urgently. Something hot spilled from her and he saw a trail of blood. She was his. Half drunk with desire for her and the joy that she had chosen him to be the only man to taste her, Erik proceeded to make her feel how much he loved her._

* * *

_**Paris, 1870**_

"_No," Christine gasped as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. "It can't be."_

_But it was._

_She had missed her monthly period by three weeks._

_That only meant one thing._

"_I'm pregnant." The two words echoed in the empty room and Christine had to grasp the dresser to steady herself. There was only one person who was responsible for this – not that she was blaming him, though._

_Erik._

_That night of passion had left its mark. They had made love slowly at first, but as the night wore on their lovemaking became more and more frantic. They only had to touch another before one of them mounted the other, and the cycle began again._

_Christine's hand flew to her stomach. There. She could feel it. Like Erik, she could feel its presence. Her child. _

_Erik's child._

_The horror of the discovery was soon replaced by joy. She had a child, a child that came from the love she and Erik shared. After all the criticisms, insults, and jeers they got from the Parisians and other so called friends of the Daae family, she and Erik made it through with a child to boot._

_Christine rubbed her stomach gently. "I know you're there, my baby. Mama loves you very, very much."_

_Christine knew that she had to keep her pregnancy a secret. If Raoul knew about the child, he would do anything to get rid of it. The father was his sworn rival, so why should the child be given any chance to live? Raoul could slip some herb in her drink that would give her an abortion or even poison the baby._

No. He won't get to you_, Christine promised. _I won't let him.

_Her heart thumping painfully in her chest, Christine made a decision: she would leave the opera house until the time came for her to give birth to her child. Then she would return to the opera house, find Erik, and tell him about the child. Then they would marry and no one could touch him or their child ever again._

_Christine considered telling Madame Giry about this, but she dropped the idea. Meg would probably be able to worm the secret out of her mother, and once she knew the secret it would certainly spread like wildfire._

Tell no one_, she told herself. Instead, she sat down and penned a letter to Erik. It read:_

My darling Erik,

Forgive me for this hasty departure, but there is some business I must attend to. I dare not see you before I go, because it would make my trip harder to bear. Trust in me and in our love. I will come back for you.

I think of you always.

Love,

**Christine**

_She knew it would suffice, and she hoped Erik would understand. She left the letter near the passageway he used to get into her room and knew that he would see it when he came for her tomorrow night. _

_That night, when Erik left, she held on to his hand a little longer and pulled him towards her for a kiss._

"_Someone is in a good mood tonight," he said as they broke apart. "Good night, my love." He trailed a finger down her cheek and down the base of her neck._

"_Good night."_

_She watched him disappear into one of the many secret passages he knew about. When she was certain he was gone, she flew to the stables, picked up the small bag she had hidden in the stall where her horse was, and rode out onto the night._

_There was only one place she could go to: the home of Nanny Margerethe. It was fortunate that Madame Giry had given her instructions to get there months before, and thanks to her frequent adventures with Erik in the city she had familiarized herself with the route. _

_Christine found the house in no time. She got off the horse and with a heavy heart, removed the saddle and reins. Raoul knew what her horse looked like, and if he saw it tied outside the house, he would know that she was there. There was only one thing to do._

"_Go," she said softly, patting the horse on the rump. "You're free."_

_The horse reared its head as if it couldn't believe what it was hearing. Finally it gave a soft whinny and ran off into the night. She watched it go and threw the saddle away. She turned towards the rather shabby cottage and knocked on the door. _

"_Who is it?" she heard Margerethe ask somewhere inside the house. Christine heard thumping footsteps, a crash, and someone removing the locks on the door. The door opened a second later and the now wrinkled face of her former nanny greeted her through the crack._

_The two women stared at each other a few seconds before…_

"_Christine? Ma cherie?" Margerethe gasped, throwing open the door. "It is you!"_

_The older woman ushered her into the house. It was sparsely furnished, but a lively fire was burning in the fireplace. A wooden bowl, a chipped glass mug, and remains of a humble dinner was laid out on the table._

"_What brings you here, sweet girl?" Margerethe asked as Christine sat down._

"_Nanny, I need your help." Christine grabbed Margerethe's hands and looked up at her. "You're the only one I can trust right now. Please."_

"_But of course. Tell me what you need me to do." Margerethe sat down beside Christine and looked deep into her former ward's eyes. _

"_I'm pregnant," Christine said. _

_Margerethe gasped. "Truly? Who is the father?"_

"_You have heard the gossip, I am sure."_

"_The monster?" Margerethe said. When Christine shot her a dark look, the older woman bit her lip and became silent. _

"_He is no monster, nanny. Society has shunned him because of his appearance. But I love him. I carry his child, and I fear for its safety. Raoul wishes the father ill, and I know if he knew about this child, he would try to kill it. I love it so, nanny, and I don't want anything to happen to it!" Christine begged. "Please, you're my only hope. If you throw me out I will have nowhere else to go."_

"_Nothing shall happen to the child!" Margerethe exclaimed. "If you say the father is an honorable man despite his looks, then he is an honorable man. You are safe here."_

_Christine was so relieved that she gave her nanny a hug. The older woman showed Christine to an extra room that only had a bed, a side table, and a chair. Christine placed her bag on the floor and sat down on the bed._

"_So where is the father?" Margerethe asked._

"_In the opera house."_

"_And he does not know?"_

_Christine shook her head. _

"_You should have told him. Then perhaps he would have come with you."_

"_No, nanny. It would be too conspicuous if he and I disappeared at the same time. Tongues will wag," Christine lamented. "I miss him already."_

_Margerethe smiled knowledgably. "Well. It is your decision, and you should stick to it. Now you don't have to do anything, given your condition. If there is anything you need, don't be afraid to tell your old nanny, alright?"_

_Christine smiled and nodded. "I can never thank you enough."_

_Margerethe clicked her tongue and waved her hand dismissively. Christine unpacked her bag and lay down on the bed._

Erik, forgive me_, she thought as she closed her eyes. She could see him, lying down on the very bed where they had made love, a smile on his face. Within a few hours he would be reading her letter and probably spend the next months worrying incessantly. He might even attempt to search Paris, but she knew that he had complete faith in her. She did say that she was alright, didn't she?_

_And so the next nine months were spent in the safety of Margerethe's cottage. The older woman took care of Christine and catered to her every need. Since the house was separated from the rest and Margerethe was known as a recluse, there were no knocks on the door from curious neighbors or other wives who wanted to sit around and gossip. _

_Christine spent most of her time inside her room, knitting small clothes that her child would wear once it was born. Margerethe taught her former ward the basics and Christine learned quickly. Soon she had a pair of socks, a sweater, and a pair of pants. She was now knitting a pair of mittens._

_Margerethe was all over Christine, tending to her former ward's every need and whim. She was like a protective mother hen, and at times she soothed Christine's fears about the birth and the sensations she would feel._

"_After all, I helped your mother, bless her soul, give birth to you. You are in good hands," Margerethe declared proudly._

_Margerethe also commented on the size of Christine's belly, which looked like a swollen lump of flesh. _

"_Are you sure it's only one child? It looks like you're carrying an entire village there! Ai! The father must have been like an eager stud!" Margerethe exclaimed whenever she saw Christine's belly precede her as she entered a room._

_Christine thought of Erik frequently and prayed that he and Raoul had not engaged in any fatal battle that would end in Erik's death. She knew of Raoul's skill with the blade, and despite Erik's claims that he had learned how to fight with a sword, she still feared for her lover's well-being. Christine had seen Raoul and Erik fight in the graveyard, and if it weren't for her interference, Erik would have died._

_Christine also voiced her fears that her child may inherit Erik's deformity. She would still love the child unconditionally, but she feared that society would shun it like they did to the baby's father. Still, she knew that no matter what her baby looked like, she would love it with her whole heart and soul._

_Soon the ninth month of her pregnancy came. Christine lay on the bed, droplets of sweat forming on her face. As soon as her water broke, Margerethe instructed Christine to breathe normally, and then quicken a few seconds before she needed to push. The labor was long and painful, and at times Christine wished that she had Erik beside her._

_But no, she had to remain firm. After six hours of labor the baby arrived, screaming his presence in the world. _

"_It's a boy, a handsome boy," Margerethe declared. "No deformities, as I can gather."_

_Christine smiled, but her rest was interrupted by another stabbing pain. She screamed and the labor pains began again. Margerethe quickly wrapped the first baby and set it down on the makeshift crib._

"_Ai! I knew you had more than one baby!" Margerethe guided Christine through the ordeal, which lasted an hour longer than the first. This time, the child was a girl._

_Margerethe handed the two infants to Christine, who marveled at their features. The boy had Erik's features: a strong jaw, thin lips, and wisps of jet black hair. The girl, on the other hand.._

"_She looks like you when you were born," Margerethe said, smiling lovingly at the infants._

"_They have no deformities," Christine said weakly. "A miracle."_

_Soon enough the infants clamored for their milk and Christine held them both to her breasts. They immediately latched on to her nipples and began nourishing themselves. At first the sensation was painful, but Christine got used to it and watched her children as they fed._

_But Christine couldn't spend a lot of time with them. Her absence had stretched to nearly a year, and she worried about Erik. She hoped he was still in the opera house._

_Margerethe protested when Christine told her of her plans._

"_The babies need their mother! They need nourishment! Darling girl, you must stay here for a few more weeks!" Margerethe continued, plodding after Christine as she packed her things._

"_I know I have asked a lot of you, my dear nanny. I just ask one more: take care of them for me. You have been like a mother to me my entire childhood. I know they will be safe with you," Christine said, looking deep into Margerethe's eyes. "For me?"_

_Margerethe heaved a sigh and nodded. "I know a nursing woman. She can provide the babies the milk they need. But what will I say?"_

"_Make something up. Say that they are your relatives or babies you found near the river. Margerethe, remember this medallion. If it is not I who comes for the children, look for this."_

_Christine showed the medallion that hung on her neck, the medallion Erik had given her all those years ago._

"_Your necklace." Margerethe recognized it at once._

"_Erik gave it to me. He made it himself, and he gave it to me before we left for England six years ago. Remember what I say, dear nanny."_

_The older woman nodded and hugged Christine._

"_Come back for your children. Oh, but you haven't even given them a name."_

_Christine walked to the door and looked back. "Call them Christine and Erik, after their parents."_

_Margerethe nodded again. Christine entered the room where her children lay sleeping and gazed down at them. Erik was facing his sister, who suddenly hit her brother on the nose as she flopped one arm up and down. The baby boy didn't even complain; he continued sleeping as if nothing happened._

"_I love you, my dearest children," Christine said, running a finger down their noses. "I will always think of you. Always."_

_She stared at them for a few seconds more and then left. Half of her heart belonged with them, while the other belonged to Erik. She needed him and her children to be complete. _

_Now she was returning for the man she loved. Soon they would come for their children, and life would be perfect._

_That thought remained with her from the moment she left Margerethe's cottage until she saw Raoul dismount from his horse. Somehow, Christine knew that this encounter would not end well._

Oh my darlings, forgive me_, Christine thought desperately as she rushed to Erik, hoping that she got to her lover before Raoul did. _I pray to God that Erik and I both come out of this alive. If not… oh please, let me see my children again_._


	23. Chapter 23: The Sacrifice

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Sacrifice**

_A menacing laugh..._

_A flash of metal..._

_Erik falling to the ground dead.._

These images flashed in Christine's mind as she realized that the dream she'd had of Erik being stabbed by a mysterious figure was of this moment. _Raoul_was the one who would kill Erik; he was the one who would ultimately end Erik's and her life in one fell swoop.

"No," she said in horror. "It was you?"

The atmosphere changed significantly, and Christine knew that Raoul would kill Erik.

_I can't let that happen_, she thought desperately. Christine stared in horror at her old friend's eyes and saw that he knew that she knew what he was planning. In a swift motion Raoul pulled a dagger from behind him and rushed towards Erik.

Christine was a bit faster; she slammed into Erik a second before Raoul brought the dagger down. The blade sank deep into her back, and a stab of pain shocked Christine to her very core. She felt her blood flow from the wound on her back, and she tried raising her arm to help stop the blood flow but it felt heavy. Christine leaned against Erik and clutched his jacket, but she felt weak. She nearly lost her balance as she struggled to stay upright, and it was only because of Erik's firm hold on her that she didn't collapse on the sidewalk. She barely heard Erik's shouts of "No!" and Raoul's choked cry as she felt herself slipping... slipping...

Erik watched in horror as Christine threw herself at him. He wanted to twist her away, far from Raoul's dagger, but the viscount was fast. The blade sliced through Christine, and he heard her soft gasp of pain.

"No!" he shouted, holding on to his fiancee as she teetered on her feet. Raoul staggered away from the couple, his eyes wide and unbelieving. Blood stained his left hand; Christine's blood.

White hot rage filled him, and he lay Christine on the ground before he rushed at the viscount. Raoul just stood there, looking horrified and his eyes fixed on Christine. Erik was upon him before he could react. The next second Erik held Raoul against the very edge of the pier by the latter's throat.

"You die," Erik said, anger evident in every syllable. Erik unsheathed his sword and sliced at Raoul's jugular. Blood spurted out over the water turning it red and the viscount flailed about, trying hard to free himself from Erik's vice-like grip and stop his life blood from ebbing away. A few seconds later, Raoul choked and then became still. Erik threw Raoul's body to the side, discarding his sword in the water as he rushed to Christine's side.

"Chrissy?" he said, afraid to feel her grow cold under his touch. "Chrissy, please speak to me. Please."

Christine's eyes fluttered open and she grasped his hand weakly. "Erik. I..."

"Why did you do that?" he demanded. "Why?"

"To save you. I don't want you to die, Erik. I don't..."  
"_I _don't want _you _to die either, Christine! You should have let him kill me! You should have!" Erik cried, tears falling down his cheeks. Christine looked so frail, and he could feel her blood on his hands.

"Erik, listen to me," she said forcefully. "Take my medallion and go to Nanny Margerethe's home. There is something important waiting for you there."

Erik shook his head. "We will go there together, Chrissy. You and me, you hear me?"

Christine continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Erik... you are a father."

Erik was stunned. Him? A father?

"Christine, you're blabbering. Let's get you to a doctor." Erik carried Christine in his arms, taking care to pull the dagger from her back and quickly staunching the blood flow using his shirt. As Erik carried Christine to the carriage, he saw Raoul's corpse.

_They can't know what happened to him_, Erik thought. _I will deny the little shit of the burial he deserves._

Erik lay Christine inside the carriage before attending to Raoul's corpse. He filled the viscount's pockets with heavy stones before dropping the body in the river, where it sank straight to the bottom. Not wasting another moment, Erik leaped on to the driver's seat of the carriage and urged the horses forward.  
They weren't far from the opera house when Erik heard Christine call his name and telling him to stop. He tugged on the reins and the carriage stopped beside a dark alley. Erik entered the carriage and cradled Christine in his arms.

"Erik, take this," she said, handing him the medallion he had given her when they were children. "Show this to Nanny Margerethe when you come for our children."

"Children?"

Christine nodded. "Twins. They look just like us." She shuddered and gasped out in pain.

"Chrissy, a doctor..."

"Can wait. Erik, the reason why I left for a year was because I didn't want Raoul to know that I was pregnant with your child. I was afraid he might harm the baby," Christine admitted.

Erik's thoughts flew back to all that Christine had said about the past year. Everything made sense. She had wanted him by her side as she came to term, especially when she gave birth. Fear of Raoul, and fear of what that little prick could do to her children - their children - had forced her to endure a year without him.

Erik felt that he hadn't done enough to avenge Christine on the viscount; that his death was too quick. But Erik's thoughts flew back to Christine and her survival, and Raoul's death seemed unimportant.

"Erik promise me that you'll find them," Christine whispered, and Erik nodded.

"I promise."

Christine smiled at him. "I love you with all my heart, Erik. My love. My husband."

Erik shook his head, his tears blurring his vision. "I love you too, wife." A moment's pause and he added: "Christine, why can't you stay?"

There was no response.

Erik sobbed hard for the first time in his life, and as he held the woman he loved in his arms, he let out a long, mournful wail that echoed throughout the night.

Margerethe looked at the sad, tragic form before her.

Erik, Christine's fiance, and the father of her twin children. His eyes were full of grief that Margerethe wanted to cry. He had told her all that happened: a robber attacked them when they got lost on their way to her house and Christine had blocked the dagger meant for him.

"She loves you deeply," Margerethe told him, and Erik had nodded, not bothering to conceal the tears that kept running down his face.

Now he stood in front of the wooden crib where two sleeping forms lay. Little Christine and Little Erik were cute little things, and they had just fed from a nursemaid who lived a few houses away. Margerethe was surprised to see Erik holding Christine's medallion as she came back from the nursemaid after paying her for her services, but she had let him in immediately.

"Where are they?" he croaked, and Margerethe showed him the room where Christine stayed for a year.

Margerethe waited for Erik to say something, but when she realized he was too wrapped up in his grief she made a move as if to leave.

"Wait, please."

Margerethe stopped just beyond the door frame. "Yes?"

"I will take them."

Margerethe turned. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

"But they need to be breastfed! They are hardly two months old!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

"I would appreciate it if you came with us, Nanny Margerethe. I know Christine would have asked you, if she were here." Erik's voice broke as he spoke Christine's name. "I admit I cannot take care of the children yet. There are so many things..."

Margerethe nodded. "I will come."

She turned and walked into her room and began placing her clothes and personal possessions in her luggage. Erik came in and helped her, thus reducing the packing time considerably. Margerethe then walked into the babies' room and took the things the children would need.

"Shall I?" Margerethe asked, making a move to carry the babies. Erik nodded and picked up the bags.

"I'm afraid I cannot see clearly. I'm afraid that I.. I might drop them," Erik said, before exiting the house. She heard him drop the luggage in the carriage and she carried the babies, careful not to wake them up.

"It's time to go, little ones," she whispered. "Time to go with your father.

* * *

**Author's Note: So. What did you think of Raoul's fate? Too quick? Too... merciful? I'd love to hear your reactions. :)**

**Let me just say that I have enjoyed writing this fan fiction very much, and I credit you, fellow POTO and Erik-Christine fans, who have given fabulous and inspiring reviews! The last chapter will be uploaded soon, along with the first chapter of the second story (a sequel to "The Phantom, The Duchess, and The Viscount). Thank you for staying by me even though I "abandoned" this fan fic (and all the others) for months! :D **


	24. Chapter 24: Happy at Last?

**Chapter Twenty Five: Happy at Last?**

_**Wiltshire Manor, Paris, 1877**_

"Welcome, my lord," the butler greeted. Erik took off his travelling cape and hat and handed it to him.

"Well, time to settle in, Christine. Erik." Erik surveyed the grand lobby with its immense crystal chandelier, a sweeping staircase, and luxurious silk draping.

Behind him came a series of happy shrieks and yells, and two six year old children preceded him into the main lobby.

Erik was the new Duke of Wiltshire, thanks to the papers prepared by the late Duchess of Wiltshire, Christine Juliet Daae. She had outlined the reason for this act, stating that he was the father of her two children, who were the rightful heirs to the Daae inheritance.

As such, it was only fitting that they be raised as the last members of the Daae family. The only way to do that was to make Erik the Duke of Wiltshire. At first most of the upper crust of society objected, saying that Erik was a commoner and had no drop of aristocratic blood in his body.

However, the paper clearly stated that the children carried the blood of the Daae family, and that was enough to nullify anything else. Apparently even the king of England could not dispute the matter, and so Erik was given the privilege of having the entire Daae wealth and estate handed to him and his two children.

Along with this, the disappearance of Viscount Raoul de Chagny rocked France and England for three years, and it still refused to die down until this day. Nobody knew exactly what happened to him, and a few rumormongers claimed that he had run away with a whore and was hiding in shame. Others said that the viscount committed suicide after hearing of the news of Christine's demise. The two people who did know what happened to Raoul de Chagny remained silent – one remained deathly silent and the other refused to grant his rival any reprieve for the wrongs he had committed.

And so the mysterious disappearance of Viscount Raoul de Chagny was written down as one of the most baffling disappearances in the world, and is considered as one of France's unsolved crimes.

Six years as a father and the Duke of Wiltshire brought a lot of changes in Erik. One, he carried himself like a pure nobleman, and those who were unaware of his background believed him to have been born of noble parents.

Second, he adopted a more refined manner, and some women admitted to finding him devastatingly attractive. However he politely refused any romantic advances, saying that Christine was to be the only woman in his life; his first and his last.

Instead he devoted his life to the raising of his son and daughter, who were turning to be miniature versions of their parents.

Little Erik displayed an uncanny talent in music, plus his tutors were claiming that he had the makings of a genius. After all, the boy was able to read and speak Latin, German, French, and Greek. Now, he was learning the complex formulas involved in chemistry and physics, but his true passion lay in music. All this was found in a six year old boy.

Erik prided in his son's achievements and fully supported him in all his endeavors. However, he also reminded little Erik to cherish being a child and encouraged him to play games with his twin sister. Little Erik usually obliged, mainly because he was extremely fond of his twin sister and was as protective of her as Erik was, if not more.

Little Christine, on the other hand, was a charming young girl who could easily capture the hearts of the people she met, both young and old. Everyone who met her kept on commenting on her resemblance to her mother. Unlike her brother, little Christine loved outdoor activities like horseback riding.

For six years Erik had lived in England, but he finally decided to set up a home for him and his children in Paris. He wanted them to see where he and their mother met and he also intended on buying the Opera Populaire.

"Everything in order, I trust?" he asked the butler as he followed his children into the courtyard.

"Yes, everything has been done as you ordered, my lord." The butler waited expectantly, but Erik had no more to ask of him. He thanked the man and studied his son and daughter as they ran around the garden.

Little Christine's hair flew about her as she ran in circles around her brother, while Erik, who resembled him, tried in vain to catch her. He finally gave up and stalked towards his father.

"Why Erik, is something wrong?" he asked his son, who looked disgruntled.

Little Erik nodded. "She's too fast!"

"So was I when I was your age," Erik told him. "It seems your roles have been switched."

His son didn't look happy at the news, and he continued watching his sister. Little Christine noticed her father and brother looking at her, and she stopped and faced them with her hands on her hips.

"Stop staring!" She pouted, and Erik saw Christine pouting back at him.

_Dear God, she looks like her mother so much_, Erik thought. It was both a delight and a sorrow; he could still see Christine in a way, and that made him miss her all the more.

"Christine," he called. "Come."

She obeyed and he took her small hand in his. She smiled gaily at him and he couldn't help but remember the times Christine held his hand as they raced through the hallways of the Opera Populaire.

"Christine, Erik. How would you like to visit your mother?" he asked them as they went inside.

"Mama? Oh yes please, Papa!" Little Christine cried. "When, Papa? When?"

"Tomorrow. We should settle in first." Erik looked at his son. "What do you say, Erik?"

"Certainly, Papa. I would very much like to see her," his son agreed. "I think we should bring her flowers. White roses, perhaps."

"She preferred red roses, but very well, we shall honor your suggestion," Erik said, ruffling his son's hair fondly. "Now go on, get dressed. We're having lunch soon."

Brother and sister held hands as they ran to their adjoining rooms, and Erik felt a sense of pride as he watched them leave. He knew that he would soon have to let them go. Christine was reaching womanhood in a few years, and Erik was becoming a promising duke.

* * *

_**Opera Populaire, Paris, 1877**_

"I can see it, Papa!" Little Christine cried, jumping up from her seat to gaze at the Opera Populaire. "It's beautiful!"

Erik smiled fondly at his daughter. She was her mother in miniature except for a small birthmark on her right cheek, which was what she had inherited from his deformity. Beside him his son, Little Erik, reached for his twin sister.

"Sit down, Christy!" he demanded, his voice strong and authoritative. He was like his grandfather Gustav, a duke in the making. "You'll fall out!"

"No I won't," Little Christine shot back. "Watch me."

"Christine, listen to your brother," Erik told her. "Proper duchesses shouldn't jump up while the carriage is in motion."

"Mama wasn't like other duchesses," Little Christine argued, but she sat down anyway. "You said so."

"I know what I said, my dear, but your Mama also knew when to behave." Erik threw a meaningful look at the older woman sitting beside his daughter.

"Is Mama really staying there, Papa?" Little Erik asked him quietly.

Erik nodded. "She loved that place as much as I did. It was only fitting that she is housed there."

The carriage jostled to a halt and Little Christine bounced up and down excitedly. "Can I go down now? Please?"

Erik threw his daughter a warning look and she folded her arms and became very still. He threw open the carriage door, stepped down, and held his arm out for the older woman.

"Such a gentleman," she said, winking at him.

"Nanny Margerethe," he said simply, smiling in return. Next to follow was Little Christine, who purposely missed the carriage steps and instead threw herself in her father's arms.

"Papa!" she cried, giggling and hugging him tight.

"Oh Christine," he said half-exasperatedly and half-amusedly. "You really are like your Mama."

She beamed as he set her down on the ground. Nanny Margerethe latched onto her ward's hand firmly; she had had enough experience with the mother and expected the same behavior from the daughter.

Little Erik was the last to step out. He did so with great dignity that made Erik smile. "Come on you, we aren't going to wait for you the whole day."

His son leaped off the last step and looked up at him expectantly.

"Bring the carriage to the stables won't you, Philip?" Erik told the driver, who doffed his hat and urged the horses on.

"So are we staying for the night?" Little Christine asked as they walked up the steps.

"Don't you want to see the French Quarter?" her brother asked her. "I thought you wanted to see it 'as soon as we get to Paris'."

Christine wrinkled her nose. "No. I want to see Mama first. Papa is also going to tell us stories about him and her won't you Papa?"

But her father didn't answer her. He was looking up at the grand entrance, remembering the time he spent with Chrissy during the masquerade. That was the night he knew that he really, truly loved her.

And, of course, there was the night he spent with Chrissy in his lair, where they created their two beautiful children.

Christine had given him a great gift: two people who would love him endlessly despite his deformity. What's more, they didn't inherit his deformity, save for the small birthmark on little Christine's cheek.

"Papa?" Little Christine said, tugging on his coat gently.

"He's daydreaming about Mama again," Little Erik guessed, causing his twin sister to giggle.

"Let's see her now!" Little Christine urged, pulling on the arm of Nanny Margerethe. The old woman remained firm, but after a few playful tugs, she gave in. They ran up the steps, with Nanny Margerethe panting from the exertion. She was too old to be taking care of children, but when Christine had showed up on her doorstep six years ago and begged her to stay with her children until they were old enough, well, she couldn't say no.

Little Erik gave a dejected sigh and ran after his sister. Erik snapped out of his spell and followed his two children into the opera house. While his children oohed and aahed at the splendor of the entranceway, Erik was amazed at how little the opera house had changed.

He could see in his mind's eye Christine twirling in the middle, her pale pink gown sweeping the smooth, marble floor, her hair flying about her. His heart ached; he missed her dearly.

But in a few minutes he would get to see her again.

"Duke of Wiltshire," a low voice came from the stairs. He looked up and saw an older Madame Giry leaning against the banister. Behind him was a 12 year old girl – Soleil.

Meg Giry had run away from her mother four years ago to marry some exotic Arabian prince, but there have been reports that she was now a simple shopkeeper somewhere in Ireland. Whatever happened to her had caused her mother to age considerably, and her once shiny black hair was now streaked with gray.

Soleil, on the other hand, had aged gracefully and was a striking beauty. She would never compare to Christine, that was for certain, but she had a rather mythical aura about her. She now stayed in the opera house as Madame Giry's protégé, but she still visited her parents every weekends.

"Madame Giry," Erik greeted, striding towards her and kissing her on the hand. "You are well, I trust?"

She inclined her head. "As well as I can ever be. I am happy to hear that you have finally decided to move here."

"He misses Mama," Little Christine piped up from behind him.

Erik chuckled and gave his daughter a little nudge. "This is Madame Giry, Christy. She was one of your Mama's dearest friends."

Madame Giry smiled warmly at the little girl, who gave her a dazzling smile. "I daresay she is Christine's daughter through and through. She looks exactly like Christine when she was six."

"She does, doesn't she?" Erik lifted his daughter who clung to his neck tightly, giggling.

"And you must be young Erik," Madame Giry said, turning towards the little boy, who had adopted a rather formal stance: back straight, legs slightly apart, and his hands clasped behind his back. "My, you remind me of your grandfather."

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Little Erik said formally. "Everyone says so."

"He certainly has Gustav's spirit," Erik said, pulling his son close. Little Christine tapped playfully at his mask, and he pulled her finger away gently. "Now, now, you know Papa doesn't like it when you touch his mask."

"I want one too!" Little Christine declared. "Everyone says I look like Mama, but they say that I'm like you true and true. So I have to have a mask!"

The adults laughed, including Soleil.

"It's "through and through", dearest," Erik corrected her. "If you insist, then we shall buy you and your brother a mask."

Little Erik tried to look unaffected, but everyone could see that he was fighting back a smile.

"Well. Shall we show you to your rooms?" Madame Giry said, gesturing to the upper floor. Little Christine squirmed and Erik put her down. She immediately tapped her brother on the shoulder and began running.

Little Erik gave a low growl and ran after his sister. "That's not fair, Christy! You're supposed to tell everyone you want to play tag!"

"Catch me if you can, Erik!" Little Christine called, her voice ringing throughout the hallway.

"Soleil, could you go after them and make sure they won't get hurt?" Madame Giry asked. Soleil nodded and hurried after the children.

"I should go too," Nanny Margerethe said, and she followed Soleil, although rather slowly.

Erik faced Madame Giry. "Oh, I don't think they'll get lost. Chrissy and I never got lost in the opera house."

"Ah, but you were there to guide her," Madame Giry reminded him.

"That's true. Thank you for thinking of their welfare."

They climbed the stairs and Madame Giry led Erik down a familiar hallway.

"I debated whether to give you and the children this room," she said as they approached two familiar doors. "Nobody has used it since Christine and… Raoul, so you'll find everything as it was."

She took a large, brass key from her dress pocket and opened the door to Christine's old room. Erik expected it to have a rather musty smell, but he was surprised when Christine's scent greeted his nostrils.

He inhaled deeply and felt as if Christine had enveloped him in her arms. "It smells like… her."

"I kept it in order since the two of you left. Her perfumes are still in there, which would explain the smell." Madame Giry followed him in the room and watched as he explored every bit.

Memories of him and Christine sharing stolen kisses, whispered words of love and passion, and the grief he had felt after carrying her down to his lair washed over him. Erik's heart throbbed painfully, and he had to grip Christine's favorite armchair in order to steady himself.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," was all he managed to say. Madame Giry nodded, as if she understood what was going on through his mind. She soon left him alone, and Erik sat down on the bed.

Again, memories flooded his mind, of the times Christine snuggled up against him. Although they did do a lot of snuggling since they got engaged, this place seemed…special. The bedsprings creaked as he adjusted his weight and lay down and he closed his eyes.

He was painfully aware of someone slowly tiptoeing towards him, and he heard a muffled giggle.

Little Christine.

Erik fought back a smile and he remained perfectly still. A few seconds later she leaped at him and ended up sprawled across his stomach.

"Oof!" Erik exclaimed amidst his daughter's mad giggles. "Christy!"

"Hello Papa," she greeted in her usual perky way. Her long brown hair covered one side of her face and he brushed it off. "Can we go see Mama _now_?"

"I don't see why not," he replied, ignoring the fact that she had literally knocked the breath out of him.

Christy smiled her adorable cherubic smile and tugged at his hand. Little Erik poked his head in the room and sighed. "Christy, next time don't leave me alright?"

"Why? Scared of the dark?" Little Christine teased, her eyes gleaming maliciously.

"Christy, don't tease your brother," Erik scolded her. He saw Nanny Margerethe plod into the room, followed by Philip, who was carrying their luggage.

"Ah, thank you for bringing them in, Philip," Erik said, giving the young man a smile. "Put them in the corner, please."

Philip nodded and set the bags down before leaving the room. Margerethe sat down on the chair in front of the dresser and fanned herself.

"Nanny Margerethe, I think you should stay here while the children and I visit Christine." Erik pried his daughter off him and stood up. "You look tired."

Nanny Margerethe looked at him gratefully. "Thank you."

Erik tilted his head and gestured to his children. Little Christine immediately fell into step beside him, while Little Erik walked out of the room first.

It was time.

* * *

"Mama," Little Christine said, gently touching the image of her mother on the marble slab. Beside her her brother laid the bouquet of white roses on the foot of the tombstone.

Erik and his children were inside his former lair, where he had his wife buried after she had succumbed to her wounds five years ago. He had had his old possessions removed, and the cavern looked empty and bare, save for the shrine that was erected in Christine's honour.

Erik walked up behind his children, the sight of Christine's tombstone bringing tears to his eyes. Little Christine seemed to sense his sorrow because she immediately latched on to his hand and squeezed it.

"Don't cry Papa," she said soothingly. "Mama wouldn't want you to be sad."

Erik forced a smile and looked down at his daughter. His son was looking thoughtfully at Christine's picture before turning towards him.

"I have her eyes," was all he said.

"Yes you do," Erik managed to choke out. "But your sister looks a lot like her."

Little Erik seemed to agree, because he nodded. Little Christine leaned her head against his waist. In silence, they each said a prayer for the woman who had played an integral part in each of their lives.

* * *

_**Wiltshire Estate, England, 1877**_

Erik woke up with a jolt. His dream had seemed so real, so vivid, that he had felt his heart clench at the thought of Christine's death. Hadn't he seen the smooth marble tombstone that bore her image and her name? Hadn't he felt the cool wind brush his face as he stood in his old lair?

And yet..

Christine made a soft, sleepy noise and rested her arm across his legs. He turned to her and saw that her face was obscured by her thick dark curls.

_It was a dream_, he told himself. _A dream. Christine is alive._

Christine had survived Raoul's attack, thanks to the prompt actions of Madame Giry, who had seen Erik carry his wounded lover across the lobby. Despite his overwhelming grief Erik had the presence of mind to check for a pulse. To his immense relief he found one, albeit faint, and had rushed back to the opera house. It was there where Madame Giry spotted them, and she had immediately brought a doctor (not Richard Chevalier) who tended to Christine's wounds. Erik had met the doctor and Madame Giry as he exited his lair; they had followed the trail of blood that had trickled from Christine's wound.

Christine had a scar on her back as a result, but she didn't mind. In fact it served as a reminder of what they had gone through in order to achieve their happiness.

"Since you have a scar, it was only fitting that I was given one too," Christine once said, smiling.

Still, Erik's blood chilled every time he thought of that dreadful night. What if he had decided to take one of the secret passageways? Madame Giry wouldn't have seen them, and she wouldn't have gotten a doctor in time. Erik was just grateful that his wife was alive.

His wife.

Christine, Erik, and their two children had left England shortly after her recovery, after promising Madame Giry that they would return every other year. Madame Giry had smiled after they told her the whole story.

"I'm happy for the both of you. You deserve your happiness," she had said before they boarded the carriage.

As expected, Christine and Erik were met with a large crowd in England, but to their surprise the Royal Family had warmly embraced Erik as "one of their own." Their wedding was grand, and every aristocrat in England had attended.

Their children, Christine Erika and Erik Christian, became popular in their own right: Little Christine for being as mischievous and inventive as her father (although she was also the proper little lady when the occasion called for it), and Little Erik for being exactly like his grandfather, the late Duke Gustav Daae.

Erik watched his wife's sleeping form and lay back down. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he felt Christine move closer to him, molding her body to fit his. Erik kissed Christine's forehead and slept.

Their moment of peace was shattered when the door to their room burst open and Little Christine, or Christy, as she was usually called, ran inside and jumped on the bed. Her older twin brother, Erik, or "Rick", as he preferred to be called, followed at a much slower pace, his hands clasped behind his back; his usual stance.

"Wake up wake up wake up!" Christy giggled, bouncing on her parents' bed.

Christine was instantly awake and she hugged her daughter; once her son was near enough she kissed him on the cheek. "Good morning my loves," she said, and Rick sat down beside her.

"Mama, is Papa up?" Christy asked, tilting her head to one side.

"I don't know. Do you think he is?"

"No!" Christy clambered over to where Erik lay and she giggled as he gave a loud, exaggerated snore. "Papa!"

Erik continued snoring.

Christy looked over to her brother, who looked back at her with his eyebrows raised.

"Help me wake him up, Rick!" Christy said, and Rick sighed heavily and walked over to his sister and father.

"Father! Father! Father!" the two chanted, until Erik growled, threw the blanket off him, and grabbed his two children, who laughed. "Papa!"

"Who dares disturb my sleep?" Erik grunted, hoisting Christy and Rick over to the middle of the bed. Rick immediately sat up, while Christy lay on her belly and faced her father.

"A big fire-breathing dragon!" she exclaimed.

"A dragon?" Erik feigned surprise, although he knew she was talking about Philip, who loved to smoke tobacco from a pipe. "What does it look like?"

"Philip!" Christy exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

Christine laughed in amusement as she picked up her hairbrush and began brushing her hair. "Oh come on Christy and Rick. Time to eat breakfast."

"But we want to eat with you!" Christy protested.

"We always eat together," Rick said in a stage whisper.

"Very well. But give your father and I time to prepare," Christine conceded, smiling fondly at her children.

Rick nodded and got off the bed, while Christy curled up between her mother and father.

"I'm staying right here," she declared, and imitated Erik, who was lying on his side facing Christine.

Erik and Christine laughed.

"Alright, if you insist," Christine said, and she leaned over her daughter and kissed her husband on the lips.

"That's disgusting!" Christy said, and she immediately took off giggling, followed by her brother.

Erik and Christine exchanged a knowing smile as they heard their twin children laugh and tease each other while running down the hallway.

"I love you, wife," Erik told her.

"And I love you too…. husband."

Life was now indeed perfect.

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Note: There you have it folks. The end to a rather long but fulfilling journey. :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope to see you in "Wandering Child", the sequel to this story. The first chapter is up, and you'll get to see Erik and Christine like never before: as parents, and the Duke and Duchess of Wiltshire to boot. ;)**

**Thank you for reading! :D Reviews and reactions are highly appreciated (but be polite, please. Thank you. :) )**


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